


Arabesque

by lysimachia



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Pining, Secret Admirer, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysimachia/pseuds/lysimachia
Summary: Belle Francouer is the Storybrooke Company's new prima ballerina. Her first starring role leads to wonderful reviews, dizzying praise...and a mysterious secret admirer.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 18
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting some VERY old fic from Tumblr (previously daylilium and lysimachia on Tumblr)

“ _Oui_! _Oui_ , Belle, beautiful!”

Her mother clapped her hands in delight, her broad smile enticing a grin from her small daughter. Belle swept into an extravagant bow, one hand resting on the low barre behind her to steady herself.

“Mer-see, mama.” Her grin widened as her mother shook her head, exasperated as always with her atrocious accent.

“ _Merci_ , ma Belle,” she crooned, rising gracefully from her seat and taking a few sweeping steps towards her daughter to bend down in front of her, lifting the little girl’s chin with her strong fingers. “ _Merrrrrrci_.” Belle giggled as her mother exaggerated the rolling _r_ sound deep in her throat.

“Grrrrrr!” The high-pitched growl was the best she could muster, breaking into giggles as her mama threw her hands in the air, feigning defeat. She stood opposite her daughter then, resting her hand on the higher barre with effortless poise; a taller mirror image of Belle. Sweeping her other hand outwards, she dipped into a flawless grand-plié, motioning for Belle to follow her movements.

“You must always dance for yourself, my Belle,” she said suddenly, her voice soft but serious. Belle slowed, then stopped, furrowing her brow and tilting her head up at her mama. The tall woman looked at her, not pausing in her motions.

“What do you mean, Mama?” Belle was confused. “I thought you danced for the audience. To…to transpire them, you said.”

Her mother smiled, inclining her head in acknowledgement. “To _transport_ them. _Oui_ , that is true, my darling. You may dance for others as well; to tell them a story, to move them, or to bring them peace. You may dance for myself and your father, to make us smile.” Her smile turned mischievous. “One day, you may dance for a man, to see him watch you and know he is captivated by you.” Belle blushed, and her mother finally ceased her pliés, kneeling beside her daughter and resting her hand on the side of the young girl’s face, toying with her chestnut curls. “But in your heart, my Belle, you must dance for yourself. Because it brings you joy, or releases your anger, or helps you to think and to feel and to learn.” Belle could see her mother’s eyes glistening. “The dance is yours, darling. You must own it.”

***

Belle closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hearing her mother’s voice echoing in her head. _“The dance is yours. The dance is yours. You must own it. It is yours. Own it.”_

“Belle?”

She jumped a little, her eyes snapping open and her hand flying to her throat. A sharp rapping followed the voice at the door. “Belle? Twenty minute warning!”

“Okay!” She heard the waver in her own voice, and willed it away. Facing herself squarely in the mirror, she repeated her mother’s words out loud. “The dance is yours. The dance is yours.”

Her face was painted unnaturally white tonight, her cheekbones highlighted by a bluish tint courtesy of the Storybrooke Company’s newest makeup artist, Ashley Boyd. Ash was quiet, and an unusually shy girl to meet in ballet circles, but Belle had liked her immediately. Their director, Mistress Mills, in a characteristic display of her ruthless discernment, had instantly noticed the girl’s talents and given her the lofty task of preparing Belle for the opening night of Storybrooke’s newest ballet, La Sylphide.

Belle exhaled a little, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she considered herself in the mirror. _A mysterious, otherworldly sylph_ , she thought, _with dreams of love and romance. You outdid yourself, Ash_. The lashings of white and blue across her face and neck could easily have made her gaunt, but some carefully placed dashes of soft pink at her lips and eyes rendered her sweet and fairylike instead. Glitter sparkled across her arms and chest, and an array of pink, white and blue flowers woven together into a crown seemed to rest gently atop her head; in actuality, pinned firmly in place and covered liberally with hairspray. Utter rigidity creating the appearance of lightness and whimsy was a ballerina’s bread and butter. “The dance is yours,” she repeated softly, and she could almost see herself out on stage already, leading her ethereal sisters in their dance, beguiling the hero with a bend of the knee and a wave of the hand…

Another sharp knock at her door interrupted her musings. “Yeah, fifteen minutes, I got it!” she called, irritated.

The door opened then, and her fellow ballerina Mary Margaret stepped gingerly into her dressing room. At least, Belle thought it was Mary Margaret; she could barely tell behind the huge bouquet of flowers she was carrying.

“Um, I’m sorry to bother you, Belle, but these just arrived,” Mary Margaret looked a little sheepish; everyone knew how nervous Belle was about her first major role, and had been walking on eggshells around her for weeks. “I thought you might want them right away. Just – to help.” She smiled wistfully. “My first flowers helped me with Swan Lake, I remember.”

Belle laughed breathlessly, taking the flowers and clutching them to her chest. “David?”

Mary Margaret blushed scarlet, nodding silently. Possibly the worst kept secret in the Storybrooke Company was one of their chief investors, David Nolan, and his infatuation with Storybrooke’s former prima ballerina, Mary Margaret. There’d been whispers a while ago that David had been considering stopping his contributions to Storybrooke before Regina cast Mary Margaret as the lead in both Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty back-to-back. Allegedly, Nolan’s contributions had doubled.

Belle balanced the flowers carefully in one arm while she dug a vase from underneath some clothes in her narrow wardrobe. They were beautiful; an assortment of roses, lilies and delicate lisianthuses, all in the purest white. She searched through the stems for a moment before frowning and turning back to Mary Margaret.

“Wasn’t there a card?”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened, and she fished into the sleeve of her leotard. “Whoops! Sorry, I was trying to keep it safe – Anna and some of the girls looked like they were about five seconds away from tearing into it.”

Belle grinned, slicing the small envelope open with one hand, eagerly pulling out the card inside. Scanning her eyes over it, she was bewildered for a moment.

_Wishing you the best of luck tonight,_

_A fervent admirer_

Belle blinked a few times before wordlessly handing the note to Mary Margaret, unable to stop the tiny sliver of disappointment that dropped into her stomach. She watched as her friend’s face furrowed.

“Ooh, a secret admirer! Belle, that’s so exciting!” There was no falseness in her friend’s tone, and Belle brightened a little. Mary Margaret was right – yes, the note itself was a tad brusque, but the sentiment was certainly a flattering one. _A fervent admirer_ …and with her having only danced in the corps, and one minor role in Sleeping Beauty.

“Yeah, it is!” Belle exclaimed as she turned happily back to the bouquet. “And they’re so beautiful.”

Mary Margaret beamed at her for a second, before flicking her eyes to the clock on the wall. “Ten minutes, Belle,” Her voice was gentle. “I know you’ll do wonderfully tonight. Don’t worry.”

Belle smiled gratefully as her petite friend left the room, closing the door with a firm click behind her. She plucked a rose from the bouquet and twirled it in her hands, a little embarrassed by how pleased she was to receive them.

She lifted the flower to her nose to inhale deeply. Somehow, the sweet scent of the bloom helped unclench the knots in her stomach.

_The dance is yours. Own it._


	2. Chapter 2

The party buzzed with excitement, everyone chatting animatedly over the loud music still blasting from the speakers despite the late hour. Belle felt exhausted and exhilarated all at once, and could barely draw breath between being dragged from person to person by Regina, all offering enthusiastic congratulations.

_La Sylphide_ had gone off perfectly, not a step or a hair out of place – onstage, that is. Backstage, there were the usual last-minute crises; one memorable moment had seen Abigail and Regina locked in a phenomenal battle of words over an alleged misstep during Abigail’s entrance as Effie, literally seconds before Abigail flitted onstage for Act Two.

Belle had lost herself in the dance the way she’d always dreamed she could; every jump and turn and step had felt as natural to her as breathing. After the final act, when they’d appeared to make their bows, she’d received a standing ovation and an enormous bouquet, and hadn’t realised she was crying until she felt the tears running down her cheeks.

Now, standing in Regina’s lavish ballroom, she felt as though she could run ten miles, or perhaps sleep for a week. She’d changed into her party clothes backstage with the other girls – a sleek blue minidress with silver heels – as Ashley went around scrubbing the harsh makeup off everyone’s faces. They’d had to practically force the meek blonde into one of Mary Margaret’s spare red dresses to drag her along to the party; Regina had a rather superior policy of only inviting cast members, investors and her personal guests to her after-parties, but Belle was the star of the evening and she wouldn’t hear of leaving Ashley behind. “Not when you were the one to make me the Sylph,” she’d said to Ashley spft;y. “Thank you so much, Ash, you did amazing tonight.” The blonde had practically knocked the wind out of her with her returning hug, and redone her makeup for the party with a careful hand; a smoky grey look around her eyes, and a bright pink on her lips which Belle would never have dared try but Ashley made work on her.

“Belle, darling!” Regina’s voice cut through Belle’s reminiscence, and she smiled automatically at the man Regina was towing towards her. “Archie Hopper, this is our shining star, Miss Belle Francoeur, our Sylph.”

The red-haired man nodded shyly at Belle. “Miss Francoeur. Con-congratulations, this evening, you did a splendid job, just splendid.”

Belle looked at the ground and smiled – she’d received more compliments in a single evening than ever before in her life, and truth be told it was starting to embarrass her a little. “Thank you, Mr Hopper, I appreciate it.”

“Oh, _Doctor_ Hopper, dearest – Archie here’s the finest child psychologist working today, he’s worked wonders with my Henry,” Regina simpered, flashing perfect white teeth at Dr Hopper, who did some blushing of his own then.

“Oh, well, Regina, Henry’s a – a very special boy…” Dr Hopper trailed off, smiling guiltily at Belle. “Sorry, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.”

Belle laughed in return. “Of course, Doctor, no worries. We all love Henry down at Storybrooke.” That much was true; Regina’s son joined them at the ballet studio almost every weekend, and a lot of nights after school, and had charmed everyone in the place. Mary Margaret was constantly sneaking in sweets for him. Belle hadn’t realised he was in therapy.

“Oh, is that Reginald over there, from the Post? Oh, I must go catch up, excuse me for a moment, you two!” Regina sauntered off, giving Belle a grin and a wink over her shoulder – oh. Belle felt a blush creeping over her cheeks. _Subtle, Mills, real subtle_.

Archie looked as embarrassed as she felt. “Um – uh, so, Miss Francoeur, this was your first lead role, I hear? I must say, I’m surprised – not that you aren’t a fine dancer, of course, I just mean, you seem to have a lot of confidence, on the stage. That is – dancing.”

Belle suppressed a laugh. “Yes, it was my first lead. First major role in anything, really, I only – ”

“Belle!”

Ruby shot up to Belle’s side out of nowhere, gripping her arm almost painfully tight. “Oh sweet Jesus, Belle, you’ve gotta help me out here – you’re Regina’s golden girl tonight, right? Tell her to get this creep off my freaking _back_ , he will _not_ take a hint and it is royally pissing me off. Jesus holy fucking Emily Post-ing _Christ,_ what is wrong with men these days!” She threw a glance at Archie, who stood stock-still, gaping at her like she had two heads. “No offence.”

Archie stammered. “None – none, uh, taken. Um.” He cleared his throat, not taking his eyes off Ruby, who was still glaring daggers at her unwanted admirer. “Are – are you ok, miss?”

“Huh?” Ruby didn’t look at him, tugging on Belle’s arm instead. “Yeah, yeah – I mean, I will be if Belle can use her magic powers to get Regina to throw this fucker _out_. Seriously, I don’t care if he’s a multi-zillionaire or the freaking President’s son or whatever, he’s a grade-A asshole.”

Belle threw an apologetic look in Archie’s direction, which she was pretty sure his rapt attention of Ruby meant he missed. “Sorry, Dr Hopper – we’ll catch up with you later?”

Ruby dragged her away then, and they lost the Doctor in the crowd. “Woah, Ruby! Cute single doctor making eyes at you back there! Jeez, are you blind?”

Ruby blinked at her. “Oh, please, Belle, he was not making eyes at me. And even if he was, he’s one of Regina’s types, filthy rich and better than everyone around them. No _thank_ you. Now, c’mon, you really need to help me get rid of this douchebag.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at the back of the man Ruby was pointing out to her; tall, wide shoulders, very well-muscled and bragging in a booming voice about some stock he’d just scored for his Fortune 500 company. She couldn’t understand why men like that thought they had a chance with Ruby – although, she supposed, that could be the protective best friend in her talking. Ruby was smart, sophisticated, and simultaneously had the vocabularies of a Harvard scholar and a particularly crude sailor. Recently promoted at her PR firm, she’d been ecstatic for the chance to spend more time with Belle when her boss had asked her to do some work with the Storybrooke Company. Regina took an instant shine to her razor-sharp wit and ruthless business savvy, and some weeks Ruby spent more time at the studio than her office.

A few softly spoken words to Regina and Ruby’s would-be beau was being firmly escorted out the door by a huge security guard, just as Regina’s assistant burst through with a stack of newspapers.

“Ms Mills!” Thomas ran breathlessly through the crowd, skilfully dodging partygoers on his way up to Regina and Belle. “Ms Mills! The Times, t-t-the Times and the Post are out!”

A hush fell through the crowd as papers were passed around and huddled over, the music dimmed to a barely-there humming in the background. Belle read the Times over Regina’s shoulder, her breath catching in her chest as, like everyone else in the room, she searched for Adrian Gold’s review.

New York’s foremost and most respected arts critic, Gold had only begun reviewing ballet a few years ago, after his sharp tongue and scathing wit in his theatre reviews had caused his popularity to eclipse the former dance critic, a Mr Sidney Glass. Glass had never had anything less than glowing to say about Storybrooke’s productions; Gold was a little more difficult to impress. His last few reviews had been mostly grudging praise, but with a few too many criticisms for the perfectionistic Regina. It was common knowledge that the two could barely stand one another, and it was said that Gold certainly enjoyed lording his power over her. Belle couldn’t ignore the knots that twisted in her stomach; aside from knowing full well how Gold’s reviews could make or break a performance, his opinion mattered as much to her as any ballerina. His taste was impeccable.

A few scattered gasps and squeals cut through the silence, and soon a loud chorus of cheers and chatter had broken out. It died down as Regina climbed a few steps on the sweeping staircase and raised a hand for silence.

“Without a doubt, Storybrooke’s production of _La Sylphide_ raises the bar for modern ballet in this city. While the classic score is revitalised beautifully and the sets given an abstract makeover which only serves to enhance the whimsical charm of the piece, it is the performers who triumph; from the two leads to the last member of the corps, each dancer is utterly engrossing, and more in tune with the spirit of their characters than in any performance in the last ten years. Not even the technically flawless steps can compete with the raw emotion on this stage.”

Someone let out a whoop of joy, and after a few scattered laughs everyone joined in, the applause erupting around them deafeningly. It took a full minute of Regina holding one hand in the air for things to quiet down again.

“While the entire company have turned out their very best work for this production, one cast member has risen above the rest and reached the sublime. From her first steps onto the stage, newcomer Belle Francoeur transports the audience into a world of her own creation; her form and movements are near-perfect, and she creates sparkling chemistry with each and every one of her co-stars. Her very presence elevates every scene she’s in, and raises the whole performance above the technically accurate to the emotionally transcendent. It cannot be overstated how rarely a performer so fully and convincingly embodies a character as Miss Francouer does the Sylph; a character that could so easily be rendered flat and uninteresting is made truly engaging by her skill and grace. To put it simply, Miss Francouer has delivered the finest performance of any dancer in living memory.”

There was a lull for a moment, and Belle felt every eye in the room on her. Then an elated voice shouted “Go Belle!”, and a round of applause even more thunderous than the last erupted around her. She shook hands with, posed in pictures for and hugged more people than she could count, Regina all the while guiding her with a firm manicured hand at her back and murmured words of encouragement and reminders of names in her ear. It was exhilarating, intoxicating, and after two hours, more than a little overwhelming.

“Belle!” Mary Margaret rushed up to her, elbowing a few well-wishers out of the way to crush Belle in a hug, talking in her ear above the chatter around them. “Sorry I couldn’t get to you before, I just wanted to say congratulations before I leave. That review was incredible, Gold never talks about anyone like that – and you deserve it, Belle, you were amazing tonight, just amazing. I’m so proud of you, we all are.”

Belle blinked away the tears as she returned the hug, murmuring her thanks to her friend as she held on tightly around her shoulders. It made her heart lurch a little to hear Mary Margaret’s genuine affection in amongst the twittering praise from Regina’s hangers-on. She gripped her friend’s arms as she pulled away, making her promise to talk more tomorrow, and wishing her a good night with a wink. A certain handsome investor was hovering none-too-subtly near the door, and hurried out just a few moments after a blushing Mary Margaret.

Belle manoeuvred her way to the bar, smiling gratefully at the waiter who handed her a glass of water with a knowing smile. She downed half of it in one go, dabbing her mouth with a napkin clutched in a shaking hand. She felt lightheaded. She was just reaching for one of the highly-polished barstools to sit on when a steel grip caught her around the upper arm.

“Belle,” Regina hissed in her ear. “Gold’s here, we need to get a picture with him.”

Belle’s head snapped up at her words, her breath catching in her chest and her stomach lurching. Adrian Gold, who’d blessed her with the best review she could have ever hoped for, was here.

It hadn’t occurred to her until this moment that she had no idea what he looked like; as soon as the thought was in her mind, she turned her head this way and that, as though he was going to leap out from the crowd and identify himself.

She smoothed her dress as much as she could with Regina still leading her across the room by one arm, and reached up to tuck a few wayward strands of hair back into place. She stumbled a little in her heels, and swallowed hard. Her throat was dry; she wished she’d finished her water. Her stomach continued to flutter dangerously. _Christ, Belle_ , she thought to herself, _whatever you do, don’t throw up on his shoes_.

“Adrian, darling!” Regina had adopted her most deadly tone, Belle noticed; smooth and cold, and as icily affectionate as a snake coiling around its victim. “How marvellous of you to come, it’s always such a pleasure. You know Miss Francouer, of course.”

The man she was addressing turned away from the doorman who he’d handed his coat to and smiled thinly. “Do let me get in the door, Regina dear. Wouldn’t do to waste all our schmoozing all the way over here where no-one can see, would it?”

Belle blinked, running her eyes up and down over Adrian Gold. He wasn’t too far away from how an arts critic ought to look, she supposed; slight and quite small, only a few inches taller than her at most. Despite his little quip at Regina, he didn’t have the foreboding presence she’d expected of him. He looked tired – not surprising, she thought, given the early morning hour – and leant on the thin mahogany cane in his left hand a little too heavily. Still, the smile he shot in Regina’s direction was razor-sharp, and his eyes glinted dangerously. She swallowed as he turned them on her.

“Miss Francouer. It’s an honour.” He held out his right hand and Belle grasped it immediately, her skin tingling at the contact. He examined her intently, his eyes flicking across her face, and Belle had a sudden image of him watching her that closely from the audience, as she danced. The thought made her shiver a little.

“Mr Gold,” she said, trying to control her voice. “I – it’s an honour for me, sir, I’m – I’m honoured to meet you.” She jerked her head sideways with a nervous laugh. “Um, I mean, it’s a pleasure, after – after reading your review, it’s a real honour to hear you say those things. Read them, I mean.”

She could feel her face burning, and her embarrassment wasn’t helped by the fact that he hadn’t yet dropped her hand. Her skin was warm where it was pressed against his, and his words from the review rang in her head.

Gold inclined his head regally, his smile a few degrees warmer and significantly more amused than it had been a moment before. “It’s an honour to watch such a superb performance, Miss Francouer. It’s my pleasure to give you the review you deserve.” He released her hand then, letting it rest atop his left on the handle of his cane, and Belle twisted her own in front of her. Although she felt a sudden loss at the break in contact, her smile was radiant.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you so much.”

Regina drew her arm around Belle’s shoulders then. “Yes, we’re all most grateful for your very generous review, Adrian. We’d be happy to get a few pictures, if you will…?” She motioned sharply to a photographer hovering a few feet away, who jumped to attention and drew his camera to his eye.

Gold raised his eyebrows at Belle with a smirk, who smothered a laugh in response. “Of course, Regina. We wouldn’t want to let the society pages down, would we?”

He stood on Belle’s right side, a few inches further away than Regina was on her left. While Regina kept her arm around Belle’s shoulders, Gold settled for resting his hand feather-light on the small of her back. Belle found herself hyper-sensitive to the touch, goosebumps rising on her arms when he shifted his fingers to press ever-so-slightly more firmly as they changed angles.

After a dozen or so pictures, Gold sighed and stepped backwards, his hand leaving Belle’s back. “Quite enough for one night, I think, Regina dear. I’ll be getting a drink if you need me. Miss Francouer, may I get you something?”

Belle shook her head automatically. “No, thank you, Mr Gold, I’m fine.”

He inclined his head again and left with a smile, the sound of his cane against the polished wood floors somehow rising above the noise of the party. The crowd parted like the Red Sea for him to pass.

Regina pulled Belle in for a brisk hug. “Well done, Belle. He’s an unpleasant man, I know, but these sort of contacts are necessary in this business. He has a lot of power.” Her eyes gleamed. “And you definitely impressed him. I’m – I’m very proud of you.” Her voice was clipped and strained, but Belle’s heart warmed at her words despite herself. Regina could be cold and even cruel on occasion, but she was fiercely protective of her dancers, and Belle appreciated it.

“It’s fine, Regina,” she assured her. “He wasn’t unpleasant at all. He seems perfectly…nice.”

Regina snorted and gestured for the photographer to resume snapping his pictures. “Nice. Gold. That’s a first.”


	3. Chapter 3

Belle had never realised how exhausting endless posing could be until her face started to ache from plastering a smile over her tired features. She finally managed to excuse herself and raced to the bar, collapsing heavily on a barstool and wincing as she wiggled her toes as best she could in her heels. She reached down to slide one foot gently out of the shoe, rubbing her aching sole. Standing around in heels at one of Regina’s parties after hours of dancing _en pointe_ was never a great idea, and being the guest of honour and therefore unable to leave made it virtually unbearable.

“Shouldn’t you be resting them?”

Belle jumped at the voice so close to her ear, and whirled around in her seat to find herself staring at Mr Gold. His eyes sparkled with humour, and he nodded down at her foot, still cradled in her hand. She blushed and readjusted her heel, unable to hide her wince.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said, smiling a little too widely. “Just – the dance, and all.” _It’s nearly six in the morning,_ she thought dazedly. _Why is he still here?_

Gold nodded, hanging his cane neatly off the edge of the bar as he took the seat next to her. “Of course. But I can’t imagine being dragged around by Regina is helping much.”

Belle shrugged non-committedly. “It could be worse. Dancers have to get used to sore feet, after all.”

Gold smiled at that, and gestured for the barman to come over. “Indeed.” He ordered a whiskey, neat, and asked again if she wanted anything. Hesitating only for a moment, she ordered a rum and Coke, and clinked her glass against his when he raised it.

“To your success,” he toasted, his brown eyes burning into hers. She could only smile in response, and took a long sip of her drink before daring to speak again.

“I really was honoured by your review, Mr Gold,” she said. “I know I already thanked you, but – well, I’m sure you understand what it means, a review like that.”

Gold was shaking his head and waving off her thanks before she even finished speaking. “Nonsense, dearie,” he said crisply. “You deserved it. I don’t hand out praise to anyone who hasn’t earned it fully.” He returned his intense gaze to her face, tracing the rim of his glass absently with his fingertips. “You gave a truly stunning performance, Miss Francouer.”

Belle looked down, his gaze almost overwhelmingly penetrating. “I honestly don’t know whether to agree with you or not, Mr Gold,” she laughed. “I was so nervous, the whole thing – it’s like a blur. All I knew afterwards was I didn’t trip, and I was grateful for that much.”

Gold laughed, a low sound that was warm and intoxicating to Belle’s ears. “Well, it was a good deal more impressive than that, Miss Francouer. Like I said, the best performance I’ve ever had the privilege to see.” He took a long sip of his drink. “Although theatrically you were superb even back then, I was impressed with your technical progress from Sleeping Beauty. You’ve sorted out that problem you were having with your _fouettés en tournant_.”

Belle’s jaw dropped open. “You saw me in Sleeping Beauty?”

Gold looked a little bemused, and a faint smile played around the corners of his mouth. “I did review it, dearie. That would’ve been quite the feat without seeing it first.”

Shaking her head, Belle set her glass on the bar and turned to face him more fully. “No, I saw the review, I just – you remember me in Sleeping Beauty? I was only one of the fairies in the third act, I barely did anything –”

“You were far and away the most talented performer in the fairies’ _pas de quatre_. Yes, I noticed you.” He leaned forward a little, far enough that Belle could see the flecks of green in his brown eyes. “You were the Gold Fairy, if I remember correctly.”

Belle dropped her gaze and bit her lip around a smile, remembering her beautiful gold dress, and the glitter that stayed in her hair for weeks. “Yes, I was.”

Gold smirked, lifting his glass for another sip without taking his eyes off her. “You can hardly fault me for remembering such a lovely performance, Miss Francouer.”

“Belle.” Her response was almost automatic; forgetting herself for a moment, she only wanted to hear her name spoken in his soft burr. “My name is Belle.”

A blush rose on her cheeks as soon as she spoke, but Gold only smiled softly in response. “Belle.”

She smiled.

“Um, Mr Gold? Miss Francouer?” Abruptly, Belle jerked out of her reverie to find two men standing close by, one she recognised as Regina’s nervy photographer. He cleared his throat and continued. “Ms Mills wanted some more pictures?”

Gold sighed irritably and stood, snatching his cane from the bar as he did so. He adjusted his tie and smoothed his suit with his free hand. Belle thought he looked almost flustered. “I’m sure Regina has had quite enough photos of Miss Francouer for one evening.” He nodded to the other man, who stood a few steps behind the photographer. He jerked his head in response to whatever silent command he’d received, and walked away briskly.

Belle stood too, noticing that, in her heels, she barely had to lift her head to look Gold in the eye. “I don’t mind,” she said. “One more photo wouldn’t hurt.”

Feeling dazed by their brief conversation, and high on the elation of the evening, she slid one arm around Gold’s waist, telling herself she imagined his sharp intake of breath. He smelled of citrus and cardamom. After a moment, he wrapped an arm hesitantly around her shoulders, his fingers coming to rest at the very top of her arm, brushing lightly against the skin there. Belle smiled as she leaned in as close as she dared, directing it at the camera rather than the man next to her.

_Click!_

She waited a moment before pulling away, reluctant to lose the contact. She tilted her head back to find Gold staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

“One for the books, I daresay,” he murmured.

A polite cough alerted them to the presence of the man whom Gold had sent off a minute before, who now held out his coat for him. After bidding Belle a polite farewell and wishing her the best of luck in the future, Gold was out the door with impressive speed, followed a few steps behind by the young man – his assistant, Belle presumed. She was still staring after them when Ruby came up to her, her gaze locked in the same direction.

“Hey, who was that with Gold?”

Belle shrugged, leaning back against the bar, suddenly exhausted. “His assistant, I think,” she said quietly. “He got his coat for him.”

Ruby frowned. “He looked really familiar.” Her sharp teeth came out to bite her lip as Belle stifled a yawn behind her hand. “Oh, man, that’s gonna bug me.”

Belle smiled sleepily at her friend. “Probably just some undeserving suitor whose heart you broke, Rubes.”

Her friend gave her a sharp elbow to the ribs for that one, and Belle winced, then gave another yawn. Ruby narrowed her eyes at her before grabbing her shoulders and steering her towards the door.

“OK, bedtime, Bellerina. The adoring public can fawn over you some more tomorrow.”

Belle protested weakly, but gave up without much fight and allowed Ruby to make her excuses to Regina and drag her out into the cold morning air. She squinted into the soft, pink sunlight, and with a deep breath, felt more serene than she had all night.

Ruby turned to her as soon as the doorman closed the taxi door with a tip of his hat, and grabbed her shoulders. “OK, first of all, because I haven’t had the chance to say this all night – _congratulations_.” The hug she gave her nearly knocked Belle’s breath out of her, but she returned it with vigour, tears pooling in her eyes. The emotions of the evening were finally catching up on her, it seemed.

“Oh, Ruby,” she gasped, pulling back to look her friend in the eye. “I just can’t believe this, I can’t believe any of it. I keep waiting to wake up – that review, I can’t believe that review!” A few tears spilled onto her cheeks even as a wonderstruck smile spread across her face. “I can’t believe this is happening. This is everything my mother wanted for me.”

Ruby looked as though she was going to start crying herself, and pulled her in for another fierce hug. “You deserve it, babe. You were incredible tonight.”

Belle shook her head bashfully. “He was so nice. Mr Gold, I mean – he was there, we talked, he was _so_ nice. I can’t believe what he wrote.”

Ruby blew a gust of air up to blow her bangs out of her face. “I heard people talking about it at the party; they said they’ve never read a more positive review from him. Remember his review of Carlotta Shafer, when she did that modern Midsummer Night’s Dream? They say that made her career, and he wasn’t half as nice about her as he was about you.”

Belle couldn’t help but gush to her friend about Gold then, how polite he’d been, and how unlike the way Regina had painted him. At some point in her ramblings, Ruby fell silent, but Belle knew she was just tired.

When they pulled up outside Belle’s apartment building, she paused as she exited the taxi to turn back to Ruby. “What was the second of all?”

Ruby blinked and tilted her head quizzically. “What?”

“You said ‘first of all’, when you congratulated me. What was the second of all?”

Ruby opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, smiling a little too widely. “Oh, nothing. It’ll keep. Go on, you must be exhausted. Get some rest.”

Belle nodded and smiled. “You’ll tell me tomorrow, Rubes?”

Ruby sighed. “It’s not important, Belle. But – yeah. Sure. Night.”

“Goodnight, Ruby. Text me when you get in.” Belle shut the taxi door and waved her friend off, before hopping up the stone steps and disappearing inside the building.

Her apartment was tiny, but clean and close enough to the studio that Belle wasn’t about to complain. The front door led directly into the living room, which was also the bedroom when Belle pulled the bed out from the wall. Ruby had tried to talk her out of renting the place because she insisted that the bed wasn’t safe, but Belle loved it. There was a kitchenette tucked away in one corner, and a surprisingly sizeable bathroom, which her landlord always insisted was the result of saving the space of a real bedroom. Regardless, it meant Belle had a small but perfectly serviceable bathtub, where Ruby or Mary Margaret had spent more than one night after particularly heavy drinking at The Rabbit Hole.

After scrubbing off her makeup in front of the mirror opposite, Belle took a step back and sat heavily on the edge of the bathtub, clutching it with both hands, needing the cool, reassuring feeling of it under her hands. _It was real. Tonight really happened._

As happy as Belle had been when Regina offered her the lead role in _La Sylphide_ , she hadn’t imagined it would lead anywhere special. Mary Margaret was Storybrooke’s star, everyone knew that, and there were at least ten other girls just as good waiting in the wings. But Belle had been captured by the story and the dance as soon as Regina had announced they were performing it, and rehearsed until her feet were numb for her audition. Reading her name at the top of the cast list had been the best moment of her life, and one she achingly wished she could share with her mother.

Still, she hadn’t expected it to come to anything. _La Sylphide_ was a lovely ballet, but a small one, not a show-stopping moneymaker like The Nutcracker or Swan Lake. She’d expected it would run for a few weeks over the summer, perhaps closing early if ticket sales were poor, before the studio began preparations for their Christmas production of Romeo & Juliet. A tiny voice in the back of her mind had reminded her that Storybrooke hadn’t performed Giselle in nearly forty years – since Regina’s grandfather ran the studio – and that the role of the Sylph was a classic ‘trial run’ for playing the famous title role, but she’d pushed it away. Now, with Gold’s review rocketing her forwards, it flew with startling speed to the forefront of her mind.

Belle hadn’t truly known what to expect from Gold’s review. She was fairly confident she’d danced well, and had hoped he’d mention her positively at least once, but knew full well how rare any praise from Gold was. For him to write what he had could make her career. Ticket sales would go up, no doubt, and Regina might even extend the run of the performance. And then – _Giselle_ , her mind whispered, although she pushed it away immediately. But – starring roles. Leading the ballet. Playing the characters she’d dreamed of dancing since she was a child. She gripped the edge of the bath tighter, her knuckles whitening.

Stretching her neck back and rolling her shoulders up and down, her fatigue seemed to catch up with her all at once. With a yawn, she padded softly back into the living room and pulled the bed out from the wall, arranging her pillows and duvet before throwing her party dress on the floor and collapsing on the soft mattress.

She tossed and turned for a little while, desperately tired but unable to get her mind to slow down enough to sleep. Images from the evening kept flashing through her mind; looking out into the crowd as she received her standing ovation, Regina’s genuine smile as she stepped off the stage, the multitude of well-wishers at the dazzling party. Mr Gold smiling at her at the bar.

She turned onto her back, resting the back of her hand on her forehead. Her conversation with Gold rang clear as a bell in her head, a moment of serenity amongst the whirl of the rest of the evening. She could almost still feel the coolness of her glass against her lips, and the shiver that ran through her when he said her name. Her stomach fluttered as she remembered the feel of his hand at the small of her back, and the top of her arm. She rubbed her hands across her face, mentally scolding herself. _Not the best person to get a crush on, Belle._ It was only that she was surprised by her pleasantness, she told herself firmly, after hearing so many terrible accounts of him.

Gazing up at the ceiling, a slow smile spread across her face as she replayed the ballet in her head. It really was a beautiful story; it was set in Scotland, so the scenery was stunning, and the choreography was some of the most lovely she’d ever danced. The gentle, joyous _pas de deux_ between the Sylph and her prince was her favourite; the prince, James, was unable to touch the Sylph, so her partner would mirror her movements from an arm’s length away, or keep his arm hovering an inch above her own whenever they were close together. They would hold out their hands to one another, but never grasp them. There were no lifts, almost unheard of in a romantic _pas de deux_ , but the sweet, gentle beauty of the prince reaching up to cradle his Sylph’s face, but never meeting her skin, had captured Belle’s heart immediately. She’d cried when she first read the ending.

Belle’s eyes slipped shut as her visions dance in front of her eyes. Her last thought before she slipped into sleep was of her Scottish prince, always an arm’s length away.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, girl,” Ruby groaned. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Belle chuckled, massaging her feet and rolling her ankles carefully. “Mostly by refraining from going into the double digits on my tequila shots, usually.”

Ruby let out a muted wail, the sound muffled by her arms, where her head was currently buried on Belle’s dressing table. After collapsing into bed in the mid-morning, Belle wasn’t feeling at her strongest when she returned to the theatre in the afternoon, but she certainly wasn’t feeling as bad as Ruby.

“You danced an entire masterpiece like an angel on earth, and I was throwing up until lunchtime. I only put mascara on one of my eyes today. My mouth is so dry,” Ruby moaned. “I feel like I’ve deep-throated the Sahara Desert.” She paused, and Belle cocked her head to the side, puzzling over that statement. “Can you even deep-throat a landscape?”

“I’m not the best person to ask, Rubes,” Belle said dryly. “The last time I tried it was a penis, and even that didn’t end well.”

Ruby snorted. “Oh my god, I remember that. Best worst date story ever.”

Belle threw her coat on, wincing a little as she squeezed her feet into her sneakers. Although she couldn’t match Ruby’s hangover, a whole night in heels followed by an intense performance hadn’t done her feet any favours.

“OK, how do I look?”

“You look amazing,” Ruby said without lifting her head. “Knock ’em dead.”

Belle rolled her eyes, leaning down to open the mini fridge and pull out a ginger beer, which she set on the dressing table in front of Ruby. “Be back in a minute!”

She headed towards the stage door, her stomach fluttering a little despite herself. Ash had told her in a low voice while she was touching up Belle’s makeup during the intermission that the audience had been buzzing about Gold’s review before the show started, and she wouldn’t be surprised if there was a big crowd at the stage door that night. Belle had rarely been asked for her autograph before, and had never considered it important before. But whether it was the residual high she was feeling from her success at the party the night before, or the words from Gold’s review ringing in her head and making her lift her head a little higher than normal, she was practically skipping towards the stage door tonight.

She wasn’t disappointed when the stagehand Michael pulled open the door, revealing a crowd that burst into applause at the sight of her. Belle felt herself split into a huge smile even as her cheeks coloured, and her face ached after nearly 30 minutes of signing programmes and posing for selfies. She pulled out her own phone to snap a picture with a ten-year-old wearing a tutu and gazing up at her with awe in her eyes.

Belle was just finishing the last few autographs when the husband of one admirer held up his phone in irritation.

“Look, I told you Claire, it’s like a forty-five minute walk. You’re not going to manage it on those heels! We should just grab a cab. We can do a cheap lunch tomorrow to make up for it.”

The petite blonde woman, apparently named Claire, shot her companion an icy glare before flashing Belle an apologetic smile. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry about him. Panicking about getting back to the hotel as usual! We took a taxi here, but it was expensive – I was hoping we could take the subway back but directions aren’t our strong suit.”

Belle offered Claire a warm smile. “Of course; taxis can be a total rip-off, especially if they know you’re a tourist.” She took a few steps out onto the street, gesturing down the street with one arm. “The nearest subway station is actually just around the corner – if you turn left by the pizza place and go straight down for about two minutes, it’s on the left-hand side.”

Claire elbowed her husband in the ribs. “See, babe! I told you!”

Her husband huffed a laugh, wrapping an arm around Claire’s shoulders and pressing a kiss into her hair. “God, I don’t know why I even try that app – it’ll never beat a local.” He smiled at Belle. “Thanks so much, Miss Francouer – and thank you for such a wonderful show, Claire and I just loved it.”

Belle smiled at the couple as they walked away, his arm still around her shoulders and hers snaked around his waist. The sight of their comfortable closeness made an unexpected pang hit her between her ribs.

Turning back towards the stage door, something caught Belle’s eye; the glint of a gold-topped cane, clutched by a man limping away from the theatre, his long hair hiding his face. It couldn’t be…

“Mr Gold!” Belle blurted out, wincing at her own too-loud voice.

He whipped around with wide eyes, his mouth falling open as he saw her. “Ah! Miss Francouer!” he stuttered, taking a few paces towards her and pausing, his hand clenching and unclenching his cane. “I…how lovely to see you. How are…how is…” He gestured awkwardly at the marquee above them. “You must have just finished. How was your show?”

Belle felt her face heating. _Why did she yell his name like that? He’s probably on his way to a glamorous dinner._

“Oh, yes! Yes, it was…it was great,” Belle said lamely. “The audience was…they were great today.”

They lapsed into an awkward silence, Belle twisting her hands in front of her and Gold staring down at her shoes. Belle suddenly hated herself for wearing her ratty old sneakers.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you any longer, Miss Francouer,” Gold said finally. “I’m sure you have afterparties and celebrations to get to.”

“Thanks to you,” Belle said hurriedly. “I…I know I already said thank you last night, but I honestly…I really can’t say it enough. You…”

Gold ducked his head, letting out a breathless little laugh. “You truly don’t need to thank me, Miss Francouer. I’m quite sure I don’t deserve…you earned every word of the meagre praise I can offer.”

He looked up then, and Belle’s heart skipped as his intense brown eyes met hers.

“Belle?”

Belle’s head snapped around as Ash called her name, to find the girl standing awkwardly behind her. “Um, sorry to…interrupt, Belle, but Ruby was asking for you? She said you guys had a dinner reservation?”

“Oh god, yeah, I completely forgot,” Belle said, flustered. “I was just – ”

She turned around, only to find Mr Gold gone.

Belle could barely hear Ash’s babbled apologies as she headed back into the studio in a daze. She could barely stop thinking about Mr Gold’s blazing brown eyes, or the soft touch of his hand on her back the night before. He’d seemed so calm that night, and so flustered just now – could he be as affected as she was by their encounters? _You earned every word of the meagre praise I can offer._

“Bellerina! I know your adoring public needs you, but I might actually die if I don’t get four or five sticky barbeque ribs inside of me right now,” Ruby said as soon as Belle stepped into her dressing room. “Plus seventeen steamed buns. And a margherita? Is it still hair of the dog after twenty hours?” Ruby paused while pulling on her long red coat, peering at Belle. “Hey, what’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Gold,” Ash piped up from where she was hovering in the doorway. “She was talking to Mr Gold outside.”

Ruby’s eyes widened. “Oh boy.” She hurried to the door, shooing Ash away and closing it firmly, before taking Belle by the shoulders and pushing her down onto the chair in front of the dressing table. “I know that look. What happened? Was he rude to you? Did he watch tonight’s show? Did he say something about the review?” She narrowed her eyes. “Did he imply anything about the review? Like you owe him something. Ugh, I’ve heard he’s an asshole, but that is next level.”

Belle finally shook her head, feeling like she was shaking off a spell. “No! God, Rubes, no way.” She stood abruptly, shedding her coat and briskly pulling on her comfy jumper and scarf. “No, he was perfectly nice. Just – I think I caught him at a bad moment, he seemed awkward. I embarrassed myself. As usual. He wasn’t at the show tonight – I think?” She paused. “No, I definitely don’t think he was. I mean, he literally just saw it yesterday.”

She turned to Ruby and caught a look she didn’t often see on her friend’s face; hesitation. Ruby was not a hesitant person.

“Rubes,” Belle began sternly. “What is it?”

Ruby let out a huff through her nose, and motioned for Belle to sit down again. “Listen – I don’t know for certain, OK? But it was that thing I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

Belle nodded, trepidation creeping over her.

“It was that young guy we saw with Gold – his assistant, or whatever. I remembered where I’d seen him before.”

Belle cocked her head to the side. That wasn’t what she was expecting Ruby to say. “Oh. Where?”

“Here.” Ruby narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, a sure sign she was trying to remember something important; Belle had seen that look on her face after many a blurry night out. “I bumped into him right outside the theatre before the show started yesterday. He was on his phone, not looking where he was going, and ran right into me. And then I think he went into the foyer.”

Belle nodded slowly. “You think he was seeing the show? Like…with Gold?” A little lump of disappointment formed in her stomach. “Oh. Like they were on a date?”

Ruby shook her head. “I don’t think so; I didn’t get that vibe from them at the party. But then I checked with Viv on the front desk. Gold had a ticket reserved for him, obviously; but just one. Solo seat, second row, over to the left.”

Drumming her hands in her legs, Belle raised her eyebrows. “So…he wasn’t sitting with his assistant?” She paused. “You’re gonna need to spell this out for me, Ruby.”

“OK, conspiracy time,” Ruby said. “I didn’t see Gold. Not before the show, not during, not after. But I did see his assistant.”

Belle frowned. “Well, that doesn’t mean they weren’t here together,” she said. “You didn’t see all two thousand people in the theatre, did you?”

“But why would his assistant be here without Gold?” Ruby asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Surely if they were both coming to the show, they’d come together? And they’d sit together? And surely Gold would just get two tickets reserved, instead of making his assistant pay for a ticket in the back? So if his assistant arrived alone and left alone, and there was just one ticket reserved; where was Gold?”

Belle’s eyes widened. “You’re saying you don’t think Gold was there last night?” She paused, stunned. “But…he published his review a few hours later! He must’ve been there.”

“Unless he didn’t write it.”

Belle drew in a sharp breath. “Come on, Rubes,” she said. “There’s no way. Gold would never plagiarise.”

“I’m not saying that,” Ruby said hurriedly. “But it wouldn’t be the first time a big reviewer used a ghostwriter. I mean – all the shows they need to see, and review every one? I’ve heard loads of them do it.”

Belle

Ruby sighed. “I didn’t even want to mention it, Belle. I know that review meant a lot to you. I just – if by some tiny chance it’s true, I don’t want you to focus too much on impressing Gold.”

A knock at the door made Belle jump. She opened the door and for a second felt a bizarre sense of déjà vu; Mary Margaret’s face was again obscured by a giant bunch of beautiful flowers.

“These were waiting for you in the back,” Mary Margaret said in a sing-song voice, a broad smile on her face. The sight almost made Belle shake off the unease Ruby’s theory had settled over her. “With a card that looks rather familiar.”

Belle took the card, running her thumb over the luxurious grain and tearing it open eagerly.

_The warmest congratulations on your stunning debut. You deserve every jewel in your crown, and many more._

_A fervent admirer_

Belle bit her lip, warmth blooming in her chest.

Ruby, reading the card over her shoulder, gave a little squeal and wrapped her in a hug. “You see?” she said firmly. “Everyone knows how brilliant you are. Every word of that review was true, no matter who wrote it.”

With a nod, Belle tucked the card in her pocket, grabbing her coat. “Damn straight. Now – ribs and steamed buns. And definitely margharitas.”


	5. Chapter 5

Rapturous applause followed Belle out as she gracefully stepped backstage, chatting excitedly with Mary Margaret and hugging all the girls who passed, each with a word of congratulations on their lips. Thanks to Gold’s review, _La Sylphide_ had exploded overnight; just like after her second performance, Belle had exited each night only to find dozens of people crowding outside the stage door waiting for her, shoving programs at her to sign. She’d been practising her dazzling smile for selfies, rehearsed answers to the routine questions and stocked up on fat black marker pens. Every ticket for the show’s two-month run had sold out, and Regina was making plans to extend it.

And without fail, Belle had returned to her dressing room after every performance to find a gorgeous bouquet of flowers waiting for her. Each one was different: after her fourth performance she was greeted by soft pink calla lilies; after her ninth she found bright sunflowers; and after her thirteenth it was a tiny gardenia bush, along with a note congratulating her on surviving an ‘unlucky’ number of shows. Tonight, as she practically skipped to her dressing room and flew the door open, her breath caught in her chest as she saw the stunning display of blood-red roses standing in a tall glass vase. She stepped towards it automatically, tracing the edge of one petal with her fingertips, and snatched the card eagerly from where it hid among the stems. Tearing it open, a wide smile spread across her face and she rolled her eyes affectionately as she read the message:

_Another beautiful performance. Congratulations on your continued success._

_A fervent admirer_

The brief nature of the messages had long since stopped bothering her. At first, they’d seemed oddly cold and impersonal, especially given the extravagance of the flowers and the continued anonymity. She hadn’t understood why someone would go to such trouble to create a beautiful gift, only to hold back so much in the card and never sign their name.

Now, she looked at the words with a fonder eye; absurd though it seemed, she felt as though she’d grown to know her mystery admirer a little better since then. They were obviously well-off and had impeccable taste, judging by the exquisite bouquets. Well-educated and formal, judging by the stiff tone of the cards. And the act of sending such beautiful flowers to someone daily, but never giving their name? Or even, for that matter, showing anything more than courteous admiration and unassuming appreciation in their messages? Belle had mused at length about the type of person that might send such a gift; was it selflessness? Fear of rejection? Theatricality? Somehow, she saw in the short messages someone with an affectionate heart, but a fearful nature; uncomfortable with public displays of affection but aching to emulate the romantic lover they secretly yearned to be.

Or, of course, she could have her very first homicidal stalker.

Groaning, she collapsed into her chair, rubbing her hands over her face and pulling her hair out of its tight bun impatiently. As much as she liked her little mystery, she found herself getting more and more eager to meet her elusive admirer. She’d even asked the other girls to keep an eye out for whoever dropped them off, but had had no luck so far; they always seemed to be left at the front desk while the receptionist was absent or distracted, and no one had caught more than a glimpse of whoever left them. Abigail swore that she’d seen them once – she said she’d gone into the lobby just as a tall man with dark hair was leaving, and the flowers were already on the desk. Other than that, the most Belle could decipher about her beau was what they left in their notes.

Tracing the words on the card, she wondered if she was being foolish. She was imagining some connection with this person on the basis of a few words and some beautiful flowers.

Belle sat bolt upright as the door to her dressing room crashed open, her hand flying to her chest. “Ruby! You scared me!”

Ruby closed the door behind her, sweeping some makeup bottles aside to hop up on Belle’s dressing table, and clasped her hands in front of her with a grin. “Sorry, babe! But I think you’re gonna be very happy with me!” She spoke in a singsong voice that made Belle raise one eyebrow suspiciously.

“Oh? What did you do?” Belle groaned. “I can’t go out on another blind date, Rubes, so don’t even ask –”

“Nothing like that, Bellerina, I know you’re way too into your floral stalker.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Which is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Belle gaped at her friend for a moment. “Wait – you know who it is?! Ruby! How?!”

Ruby laughed merrily. “Aha! I have my ways, Belle of the ball!” Her Cheshire cat grin only grew wider when Belle glared at her. “Ok, if you insist – I staked out the studio during the show today.”

Belle felt her eyes go wide. “Ruby. That’s a little extreme.”

Her friend shrugged. “Well, I wanted to know almost as bad as you. And my suspicions were confirmed!” She raised her hands in triumph and Belle frowned.

“What suspicions? It’s not a wanted killer, is it?”

Ruby smacked her playfully on the arm. “Not quite, no. Remember Gold’s assistant from the party, who was hanging out with the delivery guys?”

Belle nodded slowly. “Your potential ghostwriter?”

Ruby tilted her head and grinned. “That’s your man, baby. And I was wrong – he wasn’t heading inside to watch the show that first night. He was heading _out_ , before the show even started. In quite the hurry. After dropping something off.”

Belle stared at the flowers, a small frown line on her forehead. “Huh.”

Ruby nudged her leg with the tip of her shoe. “So, I did a little digging.”

Belle shot her a suspicious look. “Digging?”

Ruby shrugged, her eyes sparkling. “Hey, I got contacts. I called Louis at the firm and asked if he knew anyone from the Post, and he got me on to Carla Rosenthal, you know, who does that fabulous sex column there? Remind me I clipped some of those out for you, by the way. And she passed me on to that Spencer guy who did that big story last year about the smuggling at the zoo, and he said Gold’s assistant at the paper is a _woman_ so he had no idea who this guy is. But he said he’d run the number plate of the car not-assistant-man’s been seen driving around through their employee database, seeing as I did the PR for his friend Gary’s auto repair shop last year – and I think he’s got me confused with someone else ‘cause I never did that, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him – and the car does indeed belong to one Mr Adrian R. Gold.”

Belle blinked. “Wow, Ruby.”

Her friend grinned smugly back at her. “Told you I was good, babe.”

“So,” Belle said slowly. “So, this guy isn’t Gold’s assistant. But he…goes with him to parties, accompanies him to the ballet and borrows his car?” She frowned. “Gotta say, Rubes, that really doesn’t sound like someone who’d send a woman flowers.”

Ruby smacked her arm again, and Belle smacked back. “Ow! Hey, look, I don’t pretend to know anything about Gold’s sex life, nor do I ever care to, but this guy was definitely straight. He one hundred percent checked out my tits when he bumped into me on opening night.”

Belle smirked. “That doesn’t mean he’s straight, Rubes, that just means he’s human.”

Ruby flashed her a grin. “Thanks, doll. And hey, you are not listening to me here. I never said your flowers were from assistant-guy.”

“Not-assistant-guy, Ruby. Gold’s assistant isn’t a guy,” Belle reminded her.

Ruby sighed. “Gold’s assistant at the _paper_ isn’t a guy. Which got me suspicious, because a guy that young does not get to borrow the keys to a brand new Aston Martin One 77 to go handing out flowers to young ingénues out of the goodness of Gold’s heart. And he was _quite_ clearly straight, and besides Carla Rosenthal seemed pretty certain Gold was too.”

“How would Carla Rosenthal know if Gold’s straight?” Belle bristled.

Ruby raised one eyebrow. “Who knows, Bellerina. Maybe he’s a player down at the Times.”

Belle snorted, grabbing her t-shirt and yanking it on with more ferocity than necessary and hurling herself back into her seat. “Oh, he is not, Ruby.” She folded her arms over her chest and waved a hand at Ruby, indicating for her to continue. Her friend gave her a sly smile before carrying on.

“So, I thought to myself, if I had a car that beautiful and expensive, who would _I_ trust with the keys? Well, despite my initial conclusion of _no-one in hell_ , I grudgingly decided that perhaps a couple of people would be permitted the honour of gracing the driving seat; my Gran, for one, and you.”

Belle smiled. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“And why,” Ruby continued, ignoring her. “Would my dearest little Belle be handed this incredible privilege, despite barely being able to drive a tricycle without skinning her knee?” She held up a hand to silence Belle’s sound of protest. “Because you are like a sister to me. Family.”

She paused, and Belle cocked her head to the side. “So?”

“So?” Ruby sighed, exasperated. “So, who’s Gold going to trust with his car?”

Belle only stared. “Family?”

Ruby nodded, and held out both hands palm-up, gesturing for Belle to continue.

She hesitated. “His…brother?”

Ruby groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Thank god you’re pretty, Belle.”

In the middle of grabbing the cushion out from underneath her to whack her friend on the head, Belle’s mouth fell open. “Wait – his son? Gold has a son?”

Ruby threw her hands in the air. “Hallelujah, we have a winner!”

Belle dropped the cushion to her lap. “Wow. I had no idea.”

“Neither did I,” Ruby continued, the conspiratorial edge back in her voice. “And neither did anyone down at the Times, according to the obliging Mr Spencer, until about two months ago. Blew back into his life amidst very hush-hush circumstances. The most I could get was that the kid – Bailey, apparently – ran off years ago after some big argument, and only came back when he screwed up royally at whatever business he was in. And instead of telling him to go fuck himself, Gold let him move back home. And apparently drive his car.”

Belle smiled a little, still stunned but with a warm feeling in her stomach. “Wow.” Her dreamy look melted into a shrewd smile in Ruby’s direction. “You’re pretty brilliant at this, Ruby.”

Her friend beamed and winked at her. “I know, babe.” She paused. “You wanna hear my theory?”

Belle nodded vigorously, hugging the cushion to her chest.

“Well – you said you thought this guy was Gold’s assistant, at Regina’s party?”

Belle nodded. “Only because he went and got Gold’s coat for him.”

“After Gold told him to,” Ruby pressed.

Tilting her head, Belle frowned. “Well – yeah, I guess. I mean, he sort of nodded at him, and he just ran and got his coat for him.”

“Exactly!” Ruby said triumphantly. “He’s not Gold’s assistant, but he sure was acting like it. The actions of a guilty estranged son, perhaps?”

Belle hadn’t even thought of it that way, but nodded. “Oh, that’s so sad,” she mused. “He must want to make it up to his father so desperately.”

Ruby nodded vigorously. “And what better way than to run around doing jobs for him? Going with him to parties hosted by people he hates. Fetching his coat for him, probably his tea and biscuits too. Getting the grocery shopping. Picking up the dry cleaning. Making _deliveries_ , even.”

She paused, looking intently at Belle. The ballerina tilted her head, puzzled. Ruby widened her eyes, and jerked her head in the direction of the flowers next to her on the dressing table.

Belle blinked once, then burst into laughter.

“Oh, Rubes! Don’t be ridiculous!” She reached up to push her hair out of her face. “Mr Gold is not sending me flowers! I mean – if Mr Gold were interested in me, which he is _not_ , do you really think he’d send flowers anonymously? For weeks on end?”

Ruby spread her hands in front of her. “You tell me! You couldn’t stop talking about him after you met him at the party!”

Belle felt her face flush, and busied herself grabbing her handbag. “I was just glad to have met him. He’s the best arts critic in the city, Ruby, and I was flattered by his review.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, hopping off the dressing table. “Right.” She laid a hand on Belle’s arm, coaxing the other girl to look at her. “Come on, Belle, think about it. It makes sense, don’t you think? Now we know he really did write that review, and how well you said you got along at the party?”

Belle bit her lip. “You think he only gave me a good review because he liked me?”

Ruby swore. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I just thought…he seems like the type, if you ask me. Kind of reserved, not very social. He seems like he wouldn’t be very forward with someone, if he did like them.”

Belle could only stare at her friend. She’d assumed the opposite of Mr Gold; he was so well-spoken and charming at the party, while she’s been stammering and tripping over her words. Even when she’d run into him outside the theatre and practically accosted him, he was a thousand times more composed than she was. And what could someone so acclaimed and influential have to be reserved about? She shook her head.

“I really don’t think so, Ruby. Look at Gold; he’s sophisticated, he’s wealthy, he’s respected. He’s not about to send flowers to some insignificant ballerina.” She held up her hand as Ruby began to protest, and gathered up her things, balancing the book she’d brought in with her in one arm so she could take the vase of flowers in the other. “No – look, you said it might be his son delivering the flowers. Well, maybe we should try and talk to him.”

Ruby looked surprised at that. “Really?”

Belle shrugged. “Why not? I’ll bet you ten bucks I know exactly what his game is.”

Ruby raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Do tell.”

Belle elbowed her as they headed out. “You said he got into some trouble and came crawling back to his daddy? Typical rich troublemaker, and probably used to getting women falling at his feet by flashing his cash. And now he’s got none of his own, he’s using his father’s. Driving Gold’s fancy car and probably using his money to buy the flowers.” An inexplicable flash of anger swept through her at the thought, coupled with a surge of embarrassment; she couldn’t bear to face Gold if he found out his son had been spending hundreds of dollars on flowers to try to woo her. “Stake out the studio again tomorrow night and invite him backstage. Or better yet, he can come to the Rabbit Hole with us.”

They bid farewell to the other dancers as they left the studio and clambered into Ruby’s car. Ruby, probably sensing that Belle wasn’t up for more talking about the flowers, chattered excitedly on the journey home about some new ideas she’d had for promoting Romeo & Juliet at Christmas. Belle nodded absently every so often, but spent most of the drive staring down at the flowers in her lap.

As Ruby pulled up outside Belle’s apartment, she turned to her friend anxiously. “Hey, Belle – don’t worry about this Gold stuff, OK? You’re probably right about the kid. We’ll knock some sense into him tomorrow, I promise.”

Belle smiled at her friend, her throat tight. “Yeah. Thanks, Rubes.” She fell silent for a moment. “I guess I was getting kind of excited about the flowers. Kind of silly, right?”

Ruby shook her head emphatically. “No, Belle, it’s not silly.” She leaned forward to wrap her friend in a hug, hampered by the enormous bouquet in her lap. “I’m sorry this guy got to you.”

Belle sighed, opening her door. “Yeah. Me too.”

The lump in her throat felt bigger than ever when she stepped into her apartment, and the temptation to throw the flowers straight in the trash was overwhelming. She didn’t, though; she arranged them delicately on the low coffee table in front of her TV, which doubled as a dining table when she could be bothered to cook. She collapsed on the sofa, staring glumly at the beautiful roses.

She wished she could say that it was just the mystery being ruined that had destroyed her good mood. Or that she was only disappointed to learn that her flowers had been coming from what she could only assume was an unscrupulous source. But the painful lump in her throat and the twisting in the pit of her stomach told her very insistently that no, that was not why she was upset.

She hadn’t even realised, before Ruby had crashed into her dressing room, that she’d have been upset if her admirer had been revealed as anyone but Mr Gold. Now that the thought was at the forefront of her mind, she felt almost embarrassed by it. She’d meant every word she’d said to Ruby; she didn’t believe that Gold would ever send her flowers, or leave her such charming little notes. But as much as she denied it to herself, that’s what she’d been hoping for, and she hated herself for getting so drawn in to the fantasy.

Rubbing her hands over her face, she groaned softly. She had no reason to believe that Gold had anything beyond a professional interest in her, and besides being attracted to him at the party, she barely knew the man. It was hardly a great loss.

Shaking her head, she headed into the bathroom, wanting suddenly to wash the whole day off her. A good night’s sleep, she told herself, and then a stern conversation with young Bailey Gold tomorrow. And if she spent the whole night tossing and turning and dreaming of Gold – well, she just wouldn’t tell Ruby.


	6. Chapter 6

Belle’s heart pounded as she changed out of her Sylph costume the next day. Her hair curled around her shoulders when she unpinned it, and she barely had time to scrub off her makeup when Ruby knocked fiercely on her door.

“Belle? You decent? Because I’m about to bring menfolk in.”

Belle rolled her eyes and unconsciously straightened out her blouse. “I’m as decent as I get, Ruby. Come in.”

Ruby stepped in first, sweeping her dark hair haughtily over her shoulder as she led in a rather sheepish-looking young man clutching a bouquet of daisies; Belle recognised him instantly as Gold’s companion from the party. On closer inspection, he was certainly handsome, tall and well-built with dark curls and a friendly, open face. He had his father’s soft brown eyes.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as Ruby moved to stand beside Belle, folding her arms and fixing the young man with a piercing stare. Belle sighed and gave him an awkward smile. He stepped forward and thrust the flowers out in Belle’s direction. “Um…Miss Francouer, if I could congratulate you on your success with your show…”

“Thanks,” Belle said shortly. “And thank you for the flowers. All of them.”

The man rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “Um. You’re welcome.”

Ruby hopped up to sit on Belle’s dressing table, folding her legs to match her arms. “It would have been nice to introduce yourself at some point, y’know. Anonymous gifts are cute for like, a week maybe, before they start getting creepy.”

The man forced a laugh, any confidence he had withering under Ruby’s glare. “Yeah. Yes, of course. You’re right. Um. Well, I’m Bailey. Bailey Go– um, B-Bailey.” He stuttered to a stop.

Ruby snorted. “Bailey Gold, maybe?”

He shrank back a little, panic in his eyes. “Uh. Yeah. You knew that, huh?” He blew out a breath sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, I – I need to be somewhere, I’m really sorry if – if any of this made you uncomfortable, Miss Francouer. That wasn’t the intent at all, I’m sure.”

Belle tilted her head, her heart jumping into her throat. “Really? You don’t sound very sure.”

Bailey’s eyes darted back and forth between the two women. “I don’t – I just – ” He took a huge breath and deflated in front of their eyes, holding up his hands in defeat. “Look, I really am sorry if I offended you. In all honesty, I – I didn’t send the flowers. I mean, I brought them, but, they’re not from me. I was just doing a favour for – for a friend.” He paused for a moment, before adding another “I’m sorry.”

Ruby’s eyes flashed triumphantly in Belle’s direction, before turning back on Bailey. “Oh? And your ‘friend’, does he have a name?”

Bailey looked at her pleadingly. “Look, he asked me not to say anything. No names. He didn’t – I think he just wanted the flowers to be gifts. He doesn’t expect anything in return.”

Belle’s heart was drumming in her ears, but she took a deep breath and answered as calmly as possible. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.” Bailey’s eyes lit up, and he beamed at her. “Of course,” she continued slowly. “This does mean we can’t accept any more flowers from your mysterious benefactor.”

Bailey’s eyes widened and his smile faltered. “Really?” His voice was a little panicked. “I thought – I mean, I’d hoped you wouldn’t –”

“Well, you can hardly expect her to keep accepting gifts from this friend of yours, Bailey.” Ruby cut him off. “I mean, he could be an axe murderer for all we know.” She leaned forward, her smile red and dangerous. “I guess you’ll just have to tell him that we spoke to you, and your explanations didn’t exactly impress us.”

Bailey threw his hands up helplessly, before settling them on his hips with a frown. “Something tells me you ladies know more about this than you’re letting on.”

Ruby grinned. “You could say that.” She nudged Belle with her shoulder. Her friend shot her a tremulous smile, feeling dangerously light-headed. “Told you, Bellerina.”

Belle felt her face flush, but raised her chin and looked squarely at Bailey, who, despite still looking abashed, had a tiny smile creeping onto his face as he looked at her. “So. This friend of yours…?”

The man nodded slowly. “My dad. You spoke at Ms Mills’ party on opening night?” Belle’s chest lurched but she motioned for Bailey to continue. “He’s not exactly the romantic type, you understand – I mean, we haven’t been in contact for a few years, but I never remember him having a girlfriend, and that doesn’t seem to have changed. I moved back home a couple of months ago, and Papa…well, he certainly didn’t have to take me in, but he did. I owe him a lot. So, in return, I’ve been doing him some favours. Making sure he’s able to dodge calls from people he hates, giving him an excuse to get out of functions hosted by people he hates, scratching the cars of people he hates with keys.” Belle’s mouth dropped open, and Bailey held up his hands with a grin. “Kidding, I swear. But he’s not exactly the most social person, so most of the favours he needs are along those lines.”

“When they don’t include being a flower delivery boy?” Ruby quirked an eyebrow at Bailey and he raised his in response.

“I prefer floral courier, but whatever you prefer, Miss…?”

“Lucas,” Ruby said. “Ruby Lucas.”

“Miss Lucas.” Bailey inclined his head in her direction, and Belle was reminded of Gold doing the same thing at Regina’s party. “Yes, he asked me to deliver the flowers. Presumably he anticipated that the two of you would emerge as master investigators and he wanted to cover his tracks.” His eyes sparkled.

Belle found herself having to lean heavily against the dressing table next to Ruby, grabbing onto the edge with the hand not holding the daisies until her knuckles turned white. Ruby cocked her head to the side.

“So, what, he got you to buy the flowers, write the cards, and deliver them? Not the most proactive romantic gesture.”

Bailey shook his head. “Not exactly. He was actually pretty specific about the whole arrangement; he bought the flowers himself and always got a blank card, and gave them to me. After he watched the show, he’d text me with what he wanted the card to say, and then I’d write it out and leave it on the reception desk.”

Ruby vocalised the thought before Belle had a chance to. “Hold up – Gold’s been to every show?” She fell silent and gave a huff. “Well, I never thought to look out for the Flower Man in the _audience_.”

Bailey grinned at her before turning his attention to Belle. “Miss Francouer, please believe me that my papa wouldn’t have meant any disrespect by not coming here himself. This is just…” he trailed off with a shrug. “How he is.”

Belle nodded. “I understand, Bailey.”

“Besides,” he continued. “I can’t imagine it would look altogether professional for the city’s leading arts critic to show one ballerina such…attention.”

Belle felt her cheeks warm again. “Hang on,” Ruby said. “What exactly did Gold say to you? I mean, did he tell you he wanted to send flowers to a young ballerina whose work he really admired, or to a gorgeous young woman whose –” She broke off with a yelp as Belle elbowed her sharply in the side. “Whose _face_ and beautiful, gentle _soul_ he admired.”

The young man smiled, ducking his head. “I don’t pretend to know what goes on in my Papa’s head, Miss Lucas, but I doubt even he would be quite so invested in a performer’s talent alone. And from what he’s said, he’s most certainly…well, certainly interested in Miss Francouer.”

“What did he say?” Ruby craned forward eagerly. Belle scowled at her, but didn’t dismiss the question.

“He said that he had a lovely conversation with you at Ms Mills’ party,” Bailey said slowly. “And he talked at length about how wonderful your performance was. And with some persuasion, he admitted what a beautiful young lady you are.” He winked as he said the last, and it was Belle’s turn to lower her gaze and study the carpet, butterflies causing mayhem in her stomach. She cleared her throat.

“I – thank you, Bailey. I hope we haven’t ruined anything for you and your father, dragging you in here.” She felt more sheepish than ever after hearing from Bailey’s own lips about his damaged relationship with Mr Gold.

He smiled in response, reaching out to shake her hand. “Not at all, Miss Francouer. I gotta say, it’s great to finally meet you. Papa – he doesn’t talk a lot, but he talked about your dance for hours. It was nice to see him like that.” He stepped back, raking a hand through his hair. “Maybe I’ll get to see it later in the week, if I’m not going to be delivering the flowers anymore.”

“No!” Ruby said suddenly. “Deliver them!”

Both Belle and Bailey looked at her like she had two heads. “Uh, Rubes?” Belle said hesitantly. “You just said I shouldn’t be accepting the flowers anymore. Because…the axe murderer thing?”

Ruby snorted, jumping to her feet. “I don’t think Gold’s an axe murderer. At least –” She shot a dark look at Bailey. “Is he?” The young man looked stunned, only slowly shaking his head in response. Ruby brightened, her eyes sparkling. “Brilliant! So you can keep delivering the flowers, and your dad won’t know that you totally spilled the beans. OK, I have a plan – you, shoo, girl time.” She bustled Bailey across the room and yanked the door open for him.

He chuckled, reaching out to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “A true pleasure, Miss Lucas.” Peeking around her at Belle, he waved. “Perhaps tomorrow, I can bring the flowers in here, instead of leaving them at the reception desk?”

Belle smiled. “That would be lovely, Bailey, thank you. It was nice to meet you.”

“And you, Miss Francouer!” Bailey’s last words were muffled as Ruby shut the door in his face, before turning back to Belle.

“Rubes, what the hell?” Belle found herself forced back into her seat by Ruby’s hands on her shoulders, before her friend hopped back onto the dressing table.

“I have a genius plan, Bellerina,” Ruby said excitedly. “Totally devious and totally evil, and almost one hundred per cent certain to end in sex.”

Belle blushed furiously. “Ruby!”

Her friend hushed her and continued without so much as blinking. “So, Gold’s completely into you, and too much of a wuss to do anything about it. Fair enough, you are way out of his league. But if this guy has so many issues that he can’t even let you know that he’s sending you flowers, what’s he gonna do when he finds out we bullied it out of his kid?”

Belle buried her face in her hands. “Ruby, you don’t know that’s the situation.”

Ruby snorted. “Right, yeah, maybe he’s getting his son to deliver his flowers for him because he’s such a party animal he just doesn’t have the time.” Belle raised her head and pulled a face at her. “Trust me, Belle, he is insanely into you, and he has _no_ idea how much you wanna be on him. Before he finds out we talked to Bailey, you’ve gotta let him know.”

Belle reached out to slap Ruby’s arm. “Can you please – _please_ – not talk about me wanting to be on people? Please.”

“I’m only looking out for your sexual wellbeing here, Belle.” Ruby grinned down at her friend. “So? You wanna hear my awesome plan?”

With a deep sigh, Belle rested her chin in her hands. “OK. Spill.”


	7. Chapter 7

_Tap_. _Tap tap_. _Tap tap tap_. _Tap tap_. Belle rolled the pencil in her fingers as she drummed it rhythmically on the low coffee table, her head swivelled to the side and her gaze focused on the red phone next to the sofa. It had been a great thrift store find a few years ago, a vintage retro phone with a rotary dial, shiny and red and gorgeous and, as Mary Margaret had pointed out the last time she’d been at Belle’s apartment, totally impractical. Belle had been ordering takeout with it, stretching the cord halfway across the room as she showed Ashley where she kept the wine glasses in her tiny kitchen, when Ruby had barged in and promptly tripped over the wire, smacking her knee against the coffee table and tearing her favourite pair of leggings. Potentially fatal accidents notwithstanding, the phone was one of Belle’s favourite accessories, and she bought the little wooden end table it sat on especially to match it.

Of course, when she had a vitally important phone call to make, the phone became Belle’s worst enemy. She’d been sitting in her living room for twenty minutes scribbling possible conversation starters on a pad and staring at the phone, all the while worrying the scrap of paper with Gold’s number on it in her hand.

Ruby’s genius plan, as it turned out, was ridiculously simple. She’d get Gold’s home number from Bailey the next time he brought the flowers to her dressing room, call him up, and ask him to dinner. The plan had got a little more graphic from then on, and Belle had quickly backtracked with flaming cheeks to the second step; she hated talking on the phone at the best of times, and she had no idea how to call a man up and ask him on a date. Ruby had assured her that it was the easiest thing in the world, and given her a dozen or so openers, all of which she’d promptly forgotten as soon as she left the studio.

 _He's old-fashioned_ , Ruby had argued. _The flowers, the polite notes, the distance. He’ll definitely be a phone guy._

Belle took a deep breath, lifting the phone out of the cradle and pressing it to her ear. She carefully dialled the number, checking the paper after every digit to make sure she was getting it correctly. Her heart was beating out of her chest.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

“Hello?”

Belle’s throat felt impossibly dry, and she cleared it before speaking. “Um. Hi! Mr Gold?”

“Yes,” he said briskly, his tone sharp and impatient. “Who is this?”

Belle winced. “Um. It’s Isabelle Francouer – Belle, Belle Francouer, Mr Gold.” She almost smacked herself on the forehead. She hadn’t used her full first name in about ten years, why on earth did she feel the need then?

“Oh.” The change in his voice was subtle, but it gave her a surge of confidence; he sounded softer, and gentler. “Miss Francouer. This is a surprise. How may I help you?”

“Well, I – I wanted to thank you, again, for your wonderful review,” Belle began, stammering a little and patting the pencil nervously against her knee. Gold’s soft laugh rumbled through the phone.

“Miss Francouer, I can’t say I’ve ever received such insistent thanks for a review.” Belle blushed. “But of course, I appreciate it. Your review was well earned.” He hesitated. “Can I ask – how did you get my home number?”

Belle’s eyes widened, and her hand gripped the pencil so tightly she thought she might break it. “Um. Well. I…” She cast her eyes desperately around the room, finding a copy of the La Sylphide program on the table in front of her. “Regina!” she blurted out. “Regina gave me your number. I mean – I asked her for it. And she gave it to me.”

“Huh.” His voice dropped, and the bitter tone he used on Regina at her party re-emerged. “I didn’t think dear Regina had my number. I’ll have to be more careful who I hand it out to. Not that I begrudge your call, of course.” He added the last sentence hastily, and Belle’s heart melted.

“I’m terribly sorry to be troubling you at home, Mr Gold, I just…” She took a deep breath, steeling herself. _Go for it, girl._ “I just wondered if maybe you were free Friday night?” She paused. “I thought…maybe after the show, I can finally replace your coffee for you? And maybe…I’ve been so busy the last few weeks, with the show and everything, I’ve barely had the time for takeouts, and I – I’d really like to take you out for a proper dinner, as a thank you.” She did slap her forehead that time. “I just – without your review, the show wouldn’t be half as successful, and it really did mean a lot to me.”

There was silence on the other end for a long moment, and Belle’s heart was in her throat. _He’s gonna say no. This was the worst idea ever. Oh god why isn’t he talking._

“That would be lovely, Miss Francouer.” His voice was so soft Belle almost couldn’t hear him. “I’d enjoy that very much. Friday, you said?”

Belle bit her lip, her smile threatening to split her face in two. “Yes! Yes, Friday. The evening show finishes at nine; that isn’t too late, is it?”

Gold chuckled. “Not at all, Miss Francouer. I haven’t had a curfew for quite some time.”

Belle flushed, but laughed in response. “I thought – maybe Gusteau’s? I’ve been there a few times, it’s not too far from the studio.”

“Yes, it’s a fine restaurant,” Gold said. “I know the chef. Nervy fellow, but something of a _savant_ in the kitchen.”

Belle nodded and smiled. “So, Friday. It’s a date.”

“Yes.” His voice sent a shiver down Belle’s spine. “It’s a date.”

***

Belle walked out of the tiny bathroom in her dressing room for what felt like the thousandth time, giving another twirl. “How about this one?”

Ruby squinted and tilted her head to the side. “Hmm. I dunno. I don’t think it’s sexy enough.”

Belle stuck her hands on her hips, glaring at her friend. “Rubes, if I wear anything more low-cut than this I’ll get kicked out of the restaurant for indecent exposure. I’m _not_ wearing that ridiculous black thing.”

“Aww, but it looked so good on you!” Ruby protested. “And the skirt was nice and low to make up for the cleavage action. And it has lace, very sexy, very alluring, trust me.”

Belle rolled her eyes and looked to Mary Margaret pleadingly. “Help me out here, MM.” She held out her arms awkwardly. The deep red dress was one of Ruby’s, as all the ones she’d tried on were – it was cut dangerously low at the front, but had modest three-quarter length sleeves and didn’t end too far above the knee. The colour didn’t feel right to Belle, though. Mary Margaret studied her.

“I do like it, Belle, you look very pretty,” she said kindly. “You seemed more comfortable in the blue, though.”

Ruby groaned. “No way, Belle, you can’t wear blue. You were wearing blue at Regina’s party.”

Belle only stared at her. “So?”

“So?!” Her friend threw her hands in the air, narrowly missing Abigail’s head. “So the last time he saw you offstage, you were wearing blue. You want to mix it up, wear something different tonight. Different and striking.”

Squashed next to her on the desk, Bailey Gold nodded sagely. “I agree. Striking.”

Five female heads swivelled round to stare at him. “Or,” he amended. “Um. Not striking?”

Ruby heaved a sigh and smacked him round the back of the head. “OK, try the last one. It’s never been one of my favourites, but you might make it work.”

Belle stepped back into the little bathroom and shut the door, stripping down as quickly as she could. “You know, we’d save time if Bailey would just wait outside,” she complained. “There’d be no need for me to keep running in and out of the bathroom.”

“And miss the first-date preparations of my father’s new girlfriend?! Miss Francouer, I’m devastated!” Belle heard Ruby smack him again, and chuckled. She wriggled into the last dress Ruby brought, and noted approvingly that it hugged her waist and hips just the way she liked. Stepping out, Ashley gave a small gasp.

“Oh, Belle, that’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed.

“Wowzers,” Ruby said approvingly, appraising her closely. “You really do make that work. Bae, doesn’t she make that work?” She elbowed Bailey sharply in the ribs; to his credit, he only gave a small wince.

“Indeed she does. You look stunning, Belle.”

Belle shuffled them out of the way so she could look in the mirror, and was for the first time that evening pleased with what she saw. She could see why Ruby didn’t like the dress, it wasn’t her style at all, but Belle was surprised by how much she liked it. It was a deep purple chiffon, very thin and light, cut close to the body at the top but floating elegantly around her legs at the bottom. From the front it seemed almost demure, with a high neckline just revealing her collarbone, and ending a few inches above her knee. Turning around, however, showed how low it was cut in the back, arching down to the centre of her back. It was simple, but, Belle noted with a smile, striking.

“That one,” Ruby said firmly. “Definitely that one. With your black heels, the strappy ones. And with the black clutch. And with – well, you won’t be able to wear a bra with it, so with confidence and a vow not to stand in front of any air conditioning units. And – oh!” Fiddling with her wrist for a moment, she managed to unclasp the sparkling silver bracelet there. “And this.” She stood up to fasten it on Belle instead, stepping back to admire her work. “Perfect.”

The other girls and Bailey agreed warmly, sending a blush through Belle. Smoothing the dress down, she shot a sudden panicked glance at Ruby. Sensing her friend’s distress, the brunette clapped her hands loudly.

“OK, everyone! Gold’ll be here to pick our Belle up any moment, and she doesn’t want you lot gaping at her. Get the fuck out, c’mon, move yourselves.”

Aside from a smack on the arm from Mary Margaret for her crudeness, no-one argued, and Belle nodded and smiled gratefully at the chorus of good-lucks she received. Bailey was the last out, and stopped at the door to turn back to Belle.

“You’ll knock him dead, Belle.” He gave her a wink before Ruby stormed over to slam the door in his face.

“OK!” she said briskly. “You alright, girl? Nervous? I don’t blame you, this is pretty intense. Ok, first date advice; no garlic, no onion, no spinach and no broccoli, nothing that’s gonna get stuck in your teeth. You’re a total lightweight, don’t even deny it, so your limit is two glasses of whatever fabulously expensive champagne he orders. Three if the night’s going that way, if you catch my drift.”

“ _Ruby_ ,” Belle said through gritted teeth. “I’ve been on a first date before. I know what to do.” She shuffled her feet against the floor. “Mostly.”

Her friend squinted at her. “Something’s up. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Belle said, haltingly. “Nothing. Just.” She heaved a deep sigh. “Maybe I shouldn’t wear this dress.”

Ruby gaped at her. “Belle! Why not, it’s perfect! You can keep it, actually, it looks way better on you.”

Belle frowned, fidgeting with the sides of the dress. “I just – it’s really low in the back.” Ruby spread her hands in front of her.

“Uh, yeah, which is a good thing. Striking, remember? And sexy. Alluring. Wink wink, nudge nudge.”

Belle glared at her. “Ruby.”

As if she was sensing her seriousness, Ruby stopped, stepping right in front of Belle and holding her gaze. “Belle. What is it?”

Belle took a deep, shaking breath. “I haven’t been on a date in a really long time. I haven’t met a guy I like this much in an even longer time. I don’t think I’ve _ever_ liked a guy this much. I haven’t…” she trailed off, waving one hand in front of her. “Y’know. In a _long_ time.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, but her voice was gentle when she spoke. “You can say the word sex, Belle, no-one’s gonna jump out of the closet and take your Girl Scout badges away.” Belle swatted her half-heartedly, and ended up catching her hands in her own instead.

“I really like this guy, Rubes,” she said softly. “It’s hard, y’know? To meet someone outside the ballet. I’ve been living and breathing this stuff since…since before I can remember.” She squeezed her friend’s hands. “I hope I can do this.”

Ruby pulled her into a hug. “I know you can, babe,” she whispered in her ear. “I believe in you.” She pulled back, grabbing Belle’s chin with her forefinger and thumb. “If you can dance like you do in front of all those people every night, you can definitely seduce Gold.”

Belle laughed throatily, reaching down to fiddle with the tiny buckles on her shoes just as a knock at the door interrupted them. Her breath catching in her throat, her hands flew up to fix her hair as Ruby gave her a broad grin, before flinging the door open.

“Oh!” Her startled cry made Belle’s eyes fly to the door, where her own eyebrows disappeared under her hair. Where she’d been expecting to see Mr Gold a second before, she found Abigail, clutching a huge bouquet of carnations.

“I thought Bailey brought Gold’s flowers with him?” Ruby exclaimed, reaching out to grab the flowers. “Two in one night? Ooh, maybe he signed these ones, Belle!”

Abigail’s grin only broadened as she rocked back and forth on her heels. “Guess again, Ruby.”

With a blink, Ruby extracted the card from the gorgeous display, her mouth forming an ‘o’ as she read it. To Belle’s surprise, a pink blush began staining her friend’s cheeks.

“Ruby! Who are they from?!” Belle asked excitedly. Ruby cleared her throat, shooting daggers at Abigail.

“Yeah, yeah, alright Abs, run along.” Abigail ran off with a laugh, and Ruby sheepishly handed the card to Belle, clasping the flowers tightly in the other hand. Belle snatched it, and read eagerly.

_Dear Miss Lucas,_

_I hope you don’t think me too presumptuous, but I asked Ms Mills if she would get these flowers to you. I very much enjoyed meeting you at her party a few weeks ago, however brief it was, and if you would permit me, I would be delighted to escort you to dinner whenever you’re free. I’ve enclosed my details; please know I would not be offended if your answer was no._

_Yours,_

_Archie Hopper_

Belle looked up at her friend with wide eyes, and a grin threatening to split her face in two. “Oh, Ruby! How fantastic is that! Oh, such a sweet note. Are you gonna go?! Oh you _have_ to go!”

Ruby laughed, burying her face in her flowers. She opened her mouth to reply just as Ashley raced into the still-open doorway.

“Belle!” She was clearly out of breath. “There’s a gentleman at the front desk for you.” She smiled widely, her eyes flicking to Ruby. “Ooh, Ruby, who are those from? They’re beautiful!”

Belle laughed giddily, handing the card over to Ashley and pecking both girls on the cheek. “I expect a full report the second I come in tomorrow morning, Miss Lucas!”

Ruby winked at her. “Right back atcha, Miss Francouer!”

Belle tossed her a smile over her shoulder as she headed out into the lobby, a new wave of confidence surging over here. She threw her shoulders back, walking as smoothly as she could in her heels. Unbidden, she found her mother’s voice echoing in her head

_The dance is yours. Own it._


	8. Chapter 8

Gusteau’s had long been a favourite of Belle’s, since before she could afford to go there even once a month. When Mr Gusteau himself had been alive, it had been consistently the toast of the town, attracting rave reviews and praise from even the most discerning palates. However, the untimely death of Mr Gusteau last year had taken its toll on the business, as his meek and unassuming son had taken the reins. Although the reviews were still good, they had never quite lived up to expectations, and soon enough the restaurant had had to downsize, closing its previous premises (which had included a dining room so grand it more closely resembled a ballroom) and moving down the street to a decidedly cosier property. Although the move had been highly controversial and criticised in the society pages, Belle far preferred it. There were several smaller dining rooms now, and a far more welcoming, friendly atmosphere.

Arriving on Mr Gold’s arm, she was immensely relieved to have chosen Gusteau’s for their date. Although she was still far from a frequent visitor, it was still familiar to her, and the maître d’ smiled warmly at them as they arrived.

“Ah, Mr Gold, a pleasure as always,” he began, reaching out to shake Gold’s hand. “And Miss Francouer, I must congratulate you on your recent success.”

Belle flushed, ducking her head. “Thank you.”

He smiled in return, seizing two menus and leading them through the restaurant. Gold had offered Belle his arm as soon as they stepped out of his car – the same luxury model Ruby had seen Bae driving, although they had a personal driver this evening – and her heart raced at the warmth she felt through his jacket. She regretted the loss of contact as soon as he dropped her arm, though her heart did skip as he held out her chair for her.

“Shall I bring your usual, Mr Gold?” The maître d’ inquired politely. “Or should you prefer to browse the menu?”

Gold held out his hand. “The menu, I think, Jérôme,” he said. “Do you have a preference for wine, Miss Francouer?”

Belle started a little. “Um. I can’t say that I do.” She felt a flush creep over her cheeks. Gold only smiled at her, though.

“No matter. Jérôme, if you could prepare a selection of your best, a Pierre Gaillard, a Domaine Giuntrandy, a Chenin Blanc 2004 if you have it, and use your discretion with regards to matching it with the meal.”

The maître d’, Jérôme, nodded serenely, taking in Gold’s instruction with ease, although Belle had virtually no idea what he’d said. She played it safe with her meal, choosing a chicken dish she’d had before and loved, and he ordered something with beef that she could have sworn wasn’t on the menu. Jérôme didn’t seem to mind though, nodding and complimenting them on their choices before whisking away to the kitchen. Belle turned back to Gold with a shy smile.

“I should have guessed you’d be into wine,” she teased. “You sounded very sophisticated just then.”

Gold ducked his head. “Quite the opposite, I assure you. I never drink wine at home, only when I go out. It wouldn’t do to have an arts critic not know his Bordeauxs from his Burgundys.”

Belle giggled, shaking her head. “Well that’s hardly fair, I barely know enough to understand the joke.”

Gold grinned at her, a proper smile that set her heart racing. “But you laughed anyway. I don’t suppose I’ll need to save my material if you’re so easy to amuse.”

Belle faked outrage. “I’ll have you know I am exceedingly difficult to amuse. I am _most_ unamuseable.”

“Oh, I see,” Gold said teasingly. “Did I just strike _gold_ with my first quip, then?”

Belle groaned. “Now, see, _that_ was terrible.”

She was amazed at how easy it was to talk to Gold. It seemed impossible to her that they’d barely had two conversations before tonight; they seemed able to talk about anything, with an ease and a comfort Belle rarely felt around anyone outside the ballet. She did find it hard not stare too obviously at him while he talked, though – his accent became rougher and more pronounced when he was excited about a subject, which happened frequently during their meal. He was very well-educated, as Belle had assumed, but never sounded patronising when he spoke to her about his passion for opera or his travels to Rome and Venice. He was extraordinarily well-mannered, never lingering long on a subject she confessed ignorance in, and listening intently when she talked about her life in the ballet. By the time their food arrived, she found herself confessing some of the fears she’s expressed to Ruby earlier.

“It’s not that I resent the ballet, or that I’d ever want to leave,” she mused. “It’s just so demanding sometimes. And usually, I like that; I love dancing, and I love having the opportunity to completely lose myself in it. Dancing every day, doing this for a living, it’s everything I dreamed of as a child. I suppose I just…” she trailed off, picking absently at her food. “I worry, I guess. I worry that twenty years from now, I’ll regret not branching out more. Doing more things, travelling more, meeting more people.”

Gold nodded, taking a sip from his second glass of wine. “But of course, failing to fully commit to your calling now might leave you with even more regrets.”

“Yes, exactly.” She smiled warmly at him.

The waiter came to take their plates just then, and after inquiring how the food was asked if they’d like dessert.

“No,” Gold said abruptly, catching Belle off guard. “Not yet. The champagne I called about, if you please, Jérôme.”

Belle raised her eyebrows at him as Jérôme trotted off. “Champagne?”

Gold inclined his head with a smile. “It isn’t every day I get to spend the evening with the city’s star ballerina. Call it a celebration.”

Belle blushed, looking down at the table before peeking up at him through her lashes. “I’m really glad you said yes,” she murmured. He stilled, his eyes fixed on her face. “When I called you. I was convinced you’d say no. You have no idea how relieved I was when you said yes.”

Gold let out a breathy chuckle. “You really thought I’d turn down the opportunity to spend an evening with you?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “One of the most talented performers to ever grace the stage in this city, and a beautiful young woman to boot? Rabid hellhounds couldn’t have kept me away.”

Even as she felt the flush creeping up her cheeks and a pleased smile working its way across her face, Belle saw Gold’s face drop a little, and he sat back, straightening his tie and avoiding her gaze.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, as Jérôme brought over the champagne. “Perfect. Thank you, Jérôme.” He busied himself pouring two generous glasses of the expensive-looking champagne before handing her one, holding his aloft for a toast. “To your continued success, Miss Francouer. You truly deserve it.”

They clinked their glasses together, and Belle felt a tingle run through her as she took her first sip. “Mmm,” she murmured appreciatively. “I may now know much about fine wines, but I do like that.”

Gold smiled. “I’m glad.”

Belle couldn’t help narrowing her eyes at him. “I hope it wasn’t too expensive.” He didn’t respond with anything more than a tiny shake of the head as he took another sip. Belle sighed. “I really should give you something to help cover it, then…”

Gold set his glass down with a sharp tap, folding his hands in front of him. His expression had hardened. “Nonsense, you’ll do nothing of the sort. I’m perfectly capable of affording a bottle of champagne, Miss Francouer.”

A little taken aback, Belle slid her hand across to the middle of the table. “I know,” she said gently. “That wasn’t what I meant. I just…I asked you here, I should at least cover my own food…”

When Gold picked up his glass to drain it before pouring himself another, Belle knew she’d made a mistake. Biting her lip, she willed herself to be brave, and reached out the rest of the way to lay her hand atop his. He froze, looking down at where her hand rested, stroking against the back of his own delicately.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she said, keeping her voice soft and holding his gaze steadily. “I really didn’t.”

Guilt swept over Gold’s face at that, and he turned his hand over so their fingers could lace together. “Of course not, Miss Francouer, I do apologise. If you could just…” he heaved a sigh, placing his glass back on the table and running his free hand through his hair. “If you could forgive the wounded pride of an old man, I’d appreciate it.”

Belle nudged his leg with her toe under the table. “You’re not old,” she insisted. She leant forward more in her seat, reaching out to take his hand in both of hers, ignoring his sharp intake of breath. “And I didn’t mean to wound your pride.” She traced patterns along his fingers with one hand, and across his palm with the other. Gold was watching their joined hands as though afraid to look away, giving her a chance to really study his face. He looked almost pained, with deep lines creasing into his brow. She wanted nothing more than to caress them away.

“I wanted to ask you to dinner.” His voice was hoarse when he spoke, not taking his eyes off their hands. “I truly did. I never imagined you would…when I turned up at the studio tonight, I half-expected you to laugh in my face. I thought perhaps it was a joke.” Belle’s heart seized up at that, and she squeezed his hand as tight as she dared. His eyes flew to her face. “I didn’t…I didn’t really think that you would do such a thing, of course.” He gazed at her intently. “You’re far too kind. Far too lovely.”

Breathlessly, Belle summoned all her courage, and raised his hand to her lips. Never looking away from his face, she placed a gentle kiss on the back of his hand. After a pause, where she could swear he was frozen, she turned it around to brush her lips against the inside of his wrist. He shivered when he touched her there, uncurling his fingers to allow her to press more kisses to his palm, drawing his hand up slowly when she reached the end of his fingers to brush it lightly across her cheek.

“ _Belle_.” He said her name like a benediction, and it was all she could do not to grab him by the lapels and pull him across the table to her. Glancing down at the table, she flushed, grabbing her glass to down the last of her champagne. She stood abruptly, catching him off guard when she took his hand and pulled him up too.

“I think we should leave,” Belle said, looking him directly in the eye. “Can you call your driver?”

Gold only stared at her, nodding dumbly after a few moments. He pulled out his wallet and left a thick wad of notes on the table, not bothering to get the bill before following Belle out into the night air.


	9. Chapter 9

They were silent as they climbed into the car, Gold holding the door for her before walking slowly around to get in himself. They sat beside one another, neither wanting to speak first.

“Sir?” The driver asked.

Belle glanced at Gold, who was avoiding her gaze. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but stopped. He glanced to his side, keeping his eyes fixed on her knees. “My place…I have company there,” he said quietly. “My son is there.”

Belle took a deep breath. “We can go to my place,” she said. “It’s a little small, but…”

Gold nodded haltingly. “Yes.” His voice was hoarse. “Yes.”

She gave the driver her address, trying not to notice Gold’s stiff posture beside her. He sat rigidly upright, his back straight as a poker and not reclining on the seat at all, his fingers grasped around the cane he held across his knees. She had the absurd urge to grab his hand with her own, to sweep away the lines of tension in his shoulders and jaw with her lips.

Instead, she dropped her hand in the space between them, resting it lightly on the smooth leather of the car seat and willing him to reach out to her. When he didn’t, she glanced over at him and found him staring straight ahead, resolutely not meeting her eyes. His knuckles were white around his cane.

Belle was nervous. She hadn’t felt this nervous in a while; not since the premiere of _La Sylphide_. Thinking back to that night, she remembered the dread curling in the pit of her stomach as she waited in the wings for her first scene. She remembered the thunderous applause echoing around the theatre as she bowed, blinded by the harsh spotlights as well as the tears in her eyes. She remembered how her feet had ached in those heels at the afterparty. She remembered Gold’s hand at the small of her back, the warmth of him pressed to her side as they took the last picture together. She remembered the blood-red roses, and the thrill the sight of them had sent through her.

Impulsively, she pulled her hand back into her lap and slid over until she was right next to him, the hem of her dress whispering against the fabric of his pants. His head jerked in her direction, but he still didn’t meet her eyes. This close, she could see how ragged his breath had gotten. Slowly, not wanting to startle him, she reached out and gently untangled the fingers of his left hand from his cane, entwining them with her own. She nudged his shoulder with her own until he was leaning back against the seat, and she rested her head on his shoulder as soon as he did, tracing tiny circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. Little by little, he seemed to relax, his breathing evening out and some of the tension in his body draining away. Belle hummed low in her throat, turning her head to inhale the scent of him from the collar of his shirt, and couldn’t stop an indulgent smile spreading across her face when he pressed his lips to the crown of her head.

In what seemed like moments, the car pulled up outside Belle’s apartment building. Gold leaned forward and spoke to the driver in low tones before stepping out to join her on the steps of the suddenly awfully dilapidated-looking building. Belle bit her lip, forcing out a laugh.

“I know, it doesn’t look like much, but it’s much better from the inside,” she babbled as she climbed the steps to the heavy front door. “And it’s got quite a nice view, and it’s just around the corner from the studio.” She turned, watching him climb the steps considerably slower than she had, his eyes fixed intently on her face. “Oh, there I go again, making it all about the studio. I know, Ruby’s always telling me I should get something nicer. Not that it’s not nice, obviously, it’s perfectly fine for me, but – you know, something bigger, and in a nicer neighbourhood maybe. And I supposed she’s right, I can probably afford it now, what with the show doing so well and all…” She trailed off. “I’m rambling, I know.”

Gold smiled as he climbed the final step to stand next to her. “Not at all, Miss Francoeur.”

Belle took a deep breath then. “Listen, Mr Gold – Adrian.” She didn’t miss his sharp intake of breath when she said his given name, nor the tightening of his hand on his cane. “I need to…to tell you something.”

Gold tilted his head quizzically.

“I…um,” Belle faltered, looking across the street and down at the ground, unsure where to start. “Um. I spoke to your son.”

Gold eyes widened, and his jaw went slack for a moment. _Hmm. Maybe not the best way to begin._

“I mean – I mean, well, Ruby – my friend Ruby, from the studio? She does our PR? Well, I was talking to her about, about the flowers,” She couldn’t stop herself blushing a little, fiddling with the clasp of her bag nervously. “And she practically forced him to come talk to me, when she saw him dropping them off. And – he told me, that they were from you. And I made him give me your number, as well.” She winced as she said it; somehow it had sounded a lot better in her head. “I’m really sorry, if I – I didn’t want to cause a wedge between the two of you, I really didn’t, so I’m sorry I made him keep secrets from you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this earlier, I just – I thought, if we’re…” She gestured weakly towards the front door, her face flaming. “I…I felt like I was lying, or something.”

Gold had listened to her somewhat impassioned, largely feeble speech with a blank face, after he’d smoothed the signs of shock from around his eyes. He didn’t speak for a long moment after she finished.

“So,” he said finally, slowly. “You met my son.”

Belle nodded, smiling. “He’s very lovely.”

Gold smiled wistfully. “Aye, he is.” He cleared his throat, twisting his hands around the handle of his cane. “Miss Francouer, I’m…terribly sorry, if I caused you any embarrassment, or unease. I…suppose I wanted to show my appreciation, and let you know what a truly, truly spectacular performer you are. However…” He trailed off, not quite meeting her eyes, and Belle hated how cold he sounded suddenly. “You must understand, the arts critic for the Times can hardly be seen showering a single performer with…such lavish attention.”

Belle ducked her head, nodding a little and trying to ignore the twisting feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Of course. And the flowers were stunning, absolutely beautiful. It was…it was so lovely, to see them after every performance.”

Gold inclined his head. “I’m glad.”

They were both silent for a moment, then Gold glanced back at his car, still waiting by the kerb. “Well, Miss Francouer, I must thank you for a wonderful evening. The best of luck with _La Sylphide_.” He turned and made his way swiftly down the steps, and Belle’s heart lurched.

“Wait!” She hurried down the steps to rush in front of him, standing between him and car. “I…you’re leaving?”

He nodded, his face a mask of indifference. “I think that would be best.”

Belle shook her head. A lump was rising in her throat, and she swallowed hard. “No – I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything about Bailey, I just – please, don’t leave. Come upstairs, I have coffee, just – let me explain?”

Gold shook his head a little, but not as if to refuse her; it seemed more like he was trying to dismiss the entire notion. “You have nothing to explain, Miss Francouer, nothing at all. I am dreadfully sorry for causing you any inconvenience.”

Shaking her head, Belle replied forcefully “You _didn’t_. Not at _all_. Please – please come upstairs.”

Gold hesitated. Belle reached out to tug one of his hands gently from his cane. Cradling it in her own, she stepped closer.

After a long pause, Gold let out a shaky breath, nodding jerkily and letting her lead him back up the stairs, through the heavy front door and into the elevator. She gripped his hand tightly the whole way up to her apartment, absurdly afraid that he’d try to leave if she let go.

She flicked the lights on only a little self-consciously when they got to her apartment. “Coffee?” Gold only nodded in response, and Belle rushed into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on and arranging two cups of coffee. When she came back out to the living room, he was still standing where she’d left him, a few paces from the door. Every line of his body was tense; he looked like he was preparing to run.

Smiling, she walked over and reached for the collar of his coat. “You must be warm,” she said softly, shrugging it off his shoulders.

Before she knew what was happening, Gold had dropped his cane to the floor, spun around and encircled her waist with his hands, catching her mouth in a breathless kiss. She was motionless for only a moment, her eyes locked open, before her hands flew up to bury themselves in his hair. He staggered backwards, colliding with the wall, his coat still shoved halfway down his arms and caught in place by his firm grip on her waist. Belle wrapped her arms around his neck, her mind racing and confused but practically screaming at her not to stop, and her body had no problem complying. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she gasped, tightening her grip around his neck.

He broke away from her mouth with a gasp, his hands moving restlessly up and down her sides. “ _Belle_ …” His voice was slurred and his eyes dazed. Belle let her eyes fall down to his swollen mouth, and she couldn’t resist drawing one hand back to brush her knuckles across his lips, feather-soft.

“Adrian,” She kept her voice low, almost a whisper.

Keeping his eyes locked on hers, Gold released his hold on her and let his coat fall to the floor, shrugging off his suit jacket before gathering her up in his arms again. Belle leaned forward and brushed her lips across his jaw, pressing tiny, soft kisses up to his ear. She darted out her tongue to trace the curve of his ear, and bit down gently. His breath caught in his throat, and she smiled against his skin.

Taking a small step back, she took him by the hand and led him across the room. “Stay right here,” she told him in a whisper, pushing firmly downwards on his shoulders as if rooting him to the spot.

He tilted his head, obviously confused, as she stepped away and threw open the doors that concealed her bed. She pulled it down, incredibly thankful that she’d been too lazy to pull the sheets off that morning, and tugged her pillows and blankets out of the cupboard next to the bed, throwing them down haphazardly. When she turned back to Gold, she found him watching her with a small smile.

“How…economical.”

On impulse, Belle grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at him. “Shut up.”

The pillow hit him square in the chest, and he caught it before it dropped to the floor. Smoothing it with his fingers, he limped over to place it gently back in its place, staying on the opposite side of the bed to Belle. He laid one hand on the wall, leaning there, as the other dropped to his side, curling into a fist and uncurling almost compulsively. “Miss Francouer…” He cleared his throat. “I…”

Belle dropped to her knees onto the bed, crawling over until she was in front of him. Up on her knees, the height of the bed left her a head shorter than him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I knew about the flowers,” she said gently. “And I’m sorry I talked to your son behind your back. I wanted to…to be sure.” She ran her hands up his arms, resting them just under his shoulders. “I don’t think you realise how intimidating you can be.”

Gold scoffed, lifting his head away from her and staring at the wall opposite, a frown twisting his face. “Intimidating. A crippled old man, intimidating to a beautiful, intelligent, passionate young woman at the top of her field.”

Narrowing her eyes, Belle tugged him down to sit beside her on the bed, ignoring his panicked look as she shuffled closer, toying with his hair. “I actually meant how intimidating a highly educated, intellectual, _handsome_ man with exquisite taste and the unwavering respect of every single member of the arts community in this city can be to an inexperienced ballerina with one leading role under her belt.” Gold shot a look at her then, more than a little surprise evident in his eyes. “Not to mention your rather…fearsome reputation,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

He managed a smile that was more a grimace. “Reputations are well earned, dearie. You don’t really want to associate with someone like me.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, seeming as though he was talking more to himself than to her. “I shouldn’t have come up here. I can’t…be around you, Belle. I swear I can’t control myself, around you. You don’t know what…” He turned to face her then, and traced a hand across her cheek. “What you do to me.”

Belle shivered. “Tell me,” she whispered. Their faces were barely a few inches apart. It would be so easy to kiss him right now. “Tell me.”

His eyes darted all across her face, her cheeks, her hair, her eyes, her lips. “When I saw you on stage that night,” he said. “I knew. I knew, right away. I remembered…in Sleeping Beauty, you were so beautiful, but, _La Sylphide_ …”His hand drew back into her hair, slowly, teasing her curls through his fingers. “You were enchanting. Breathtaking. I don’t know how every man in the room didn’t walk away in love with you that night.” Belle’s heart leapt into her throat. Gold’s hand was trailing across the back of her neck. “I wanted to see you again. I went to see you, every night. You were…you took my breath away.”

Belle could barely breathe herself, with him so close, murmuring things like that to her. She scooted even closer, crossing her knee over his and draping her arms back around his neck. She played with his hair, loving the feel of it. “I like thinking about you watching me dance,” she whispered. Gold’s eyes seemed to darken, and Belle suppressed the desire to kiss him and pressed on. “I like thinking about you looking at me like that. Watching my body.”

Gold let out a muffled groan, leaning in to catch her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers immediately. Belle dug her fingernails into his shoulders through his shirt and pulled him towards her, manoeuvring them until he was laying on top of her, her head pressed back into the pillow and her hands roaming across his back.

He broke away from her mouth to attack her throat, leaving a trail of blistering kisses and darting his tongue out to taste where her neck met her shoulder. She couldn’t help but moan aloud, her hands reaching up to grab his hair and hold him in place. She shifted desperately until she could wrap her legs around his waist, bucking her hips up and gasping at the sensation.

Gold growled against her throat, grinding down against her. “ _God_ , Belle.” His voice was raw. Belle released his hair, stroking it back in silent apology for pulling it, and their lips met in more scorching kisses. Belle felt desperate and relaxed all at once; every cell in her body screamed for Gold’s attentions, screamed for his hands and his mouth, screamed to be closer, and yet she was tranquil, a smooth, cool, calm feeling spreading through her chest. _He wants you_ , it seemed to whisper as his tongue stroked against the roof of her mouth. _He wants you as much as you want him_.

Instinctively, Belle scrabbled at the buttons on Gold’s pristine white shirt. She had four undone before he realised what she was doing, and skilfully entwined her fingers with his, moving them above her head to press into the pillow. _Nice try_ , Belle thought ruefully. With a swift movement, she freed her hands, stroked soothingly down his face and wrenched his shirt apart, the remaining buttons popping off and rolling onto the mattress.

Gold broke away from her mouth as she giggled, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and running her hands luxuriantly over his back and shoulders. He was breathing heavily, his hair sticking out in odd places where she’d been running her fingers through it. He seemed to be battling himself, reaching his hand out for his shirt and stopping himself halfway there. He rested his elbows on either side of Belle’s body instead, raising an eyebrow at her. “You’ll fix that, I assume,” he murmured as he pressed another kiss to her lips.

Belle hummed, sliding her fingertips down his bare arms. “Or I’ll get someone at the studio to fix it for me,” she murmured between kisses. Gold slid his hands down her waist, stroking her legs below her dress. His fingers came up to toy with the hem, a little shakily.

“I would return the favour,” he said, his voice playfully deep and more than a little nervous. “But this is a rather lovely dress. And I’d very much like to see you in it again.”

Belle giggled, her hand flying to the zip at the side of the dress, dragging it down. “It’s actually Ruby’s. I’ll have to tell her she won’t be getting it back.”

She reached up to pull at the neckline, but Gold’s hands stopped her, his eyes fixed on hers. Belle smiled, letting her hands fall back onto the mattress, and gave him a tiny nod. Breathlessly, he slid the flimsy material down her shoulders, past her bare chest, leaving it to bunch together at her waist. He stopped, his eyes roaming hungrily over every inch of her. Belle darted out her tongue to wet her dry lips. Every time he looked at her, she couldn’t help thinking of him in the audience, watching her dance. She imagined him, his eyes tracing over her body in her skin-tight costumes as ravenously as he was right now, and wondered if she’d ever be able to concentrate on stage again.

She lifted her hips to let him slide the dress off her and toss it to the floor, his hands instantly reaching to touch her everywhere, sliding up and down her arms, across her stomach, encircling her waist, round her thighs. He reached down to press soft kisses to her collarbone, down her arm and over her wrists, as she’d done to him in the restaurant earlier. She gasped as his mouth found her breasts, his kisses almost impossibly gentle around the soft skin there, until she tugged at his hair and he growled and drew one hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking and scraping it with his teeth. He repeated the motion with the other breast, a little rougher, and Belle could barely contain herself. She pressed her hips upwards unconsciously and, suddenly hyper-aware of the aching pressure between her thighs, reached her hands down to scramble at his belt and the fastenings of his pants. She had his pants and boxers halfway down his legs before she realised he still had his shoes on, and a giggle escaped her. Gold joined her, leaning over her on his elbows, burying his face in her neck as he laughed.

Belle coaxed him to one side, pushing him onto his back and moving down his body to pull off one highly-polished loafer, then the other, running her nails teasingly over the soles of his feet once they were bare. He jerked them back, still laughing breathlessly.

He trailed off, his face smoothing and his eyes widening, as she began to press kisses to his legs, alternating between them and running her hand up and down the other in long, smooth strokes. She lingered at his injured knee, dropping open-mouth kisses to the scarred flesh as she ran her fingertips over the sensitive skin at the back of his knee. Gold’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling in rapid motions. As she began to move her mouth up his thigh, he seized her upper arms and pulled her up to his mouth, capturing her in a deep kiss even as they both gasped as their bare skin met down the lengths of their bodies. She pressed closer, his arousal rock-hard against her hip. His hands came down to trace along the lacy edge of her underwear, his fingertips ghosting on her bare flesh but not pushing them down.

She tore her mouth away from his, nuzzling at his throat as she tried to gasp out the words. “Yes. _Yes_.” Her voice was muffled against his skin, and she couldn’t resist sinking her teeth in just once, hard enough to leave a mark. He let out a strangled noise against her hair, and with surprising strength flipped them over, pushing Belle hard into the mattress with another scorching kiss before reaching down to pull her underwear down her legs and toss it aside.

His eyes burned into her and she itched to sit up and pull him closer, but something told her to stay. She rested her hands at her sides and fixed her eyes on his face, watching him watch her. She could almost feel his gaze like something physical, stroking lovingly up and down her legs, caressing her stomach and her breasts, teasing her with fingertips and teeth and kisses.

At last he leaned forward, pressing kisses into her stomach and rubbing her legs with long, smooth strokes, coaxing her to part her thighs for him. He reached up to tease his hands across her breasts as his kisses went lower, his tongue darting out to trace her hipbone. She gasped as he scraped his fingernails down the sensitive skin at the sides of her breasts, finally resting his palms at the side of her ribs, occasionally moving up to stroke his thumbs across her taut nipples. Belle closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She let her hands trail towards his head, stroking and tugging gently at his hair.

His mouth moved slowly, kissing and licking and nipping at the inside of her thighs for what felt like hours, until she was clutching too tightly at his hair and whimpering. Slowly, he moved closer to where she needed him, and she let out a breathy groan as his tongue found her, moving in soft, slow circles, tracing patterns that had her moaning and fisting her hands at the blankets by her side in seconds. His movements became harder, faster, as he sensed her coming closer to the edge; he lapped at her eagerly, circling just the tip on his tongue around her clit over and over again, until finally he closed his mouth around her and sucked, and Belle couldn’t hold back her cry as she came, her vision blacking out and her world shrinking down to his mouth, still lapping slowly at her as his hands massaged into her hips.

She arched into him and whimpered as the waves of her orgasm faded, leaving her breathless and tingling and desperate to hold him. She pulled at him wordlessly, and he crawled up the length of her body, trailing kisses along her hips and stomach and breasts until he found her mouth, sliding his tongue along hers slowly. She could taste herself on him. The thought made her moan and wrap her legs around his waist, pulling him tighter to her.

“Please,” she whispered as she pulled back, peppering his face with kisses. “Please, _please_.”

Sliding an arm around her back, Gold lifted her hips, his eyes intent on her face. Belle couldn’t help herself and snaked her hand down between them, revelling in his shuddering groan as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking him firmly and guiding him to her.

She’d never felt anything like it, when he was inside her. Still tender and breathless from her orgasm, every little movement was ecstasy, and she was sure she was scratching his back raw with her fingernails, digging in and scraping every time he thrust into her. He didn’t seem to have any complaints, pressing his forehead into hers and practically growling as she attacked him with her nails, every so often surprising her with a fierce, breathless kiss.

His thrusts grew more erratic, and Belle’s hands went to his hips, encouraging him as he drew closer and closer to the edge. With a groan, he found her clit with his fingers, rubbing her with more intensity that before, circling her before pressing down hard and pinching. She caught up to him in seconds, her climax tearing a scream from her throat. He buried his face into her neck as he followed her, and they lay there together for minutes or hours, the only sounds left in the room their mingled moans and breaths and they came down together.

Belle wrapped her arms tight around his neck, her legs still encircling his waist. He was still inside her, she realised as she came out of her haze, and she stroked his hair slowly, whispering soft, lovely things in his ear. She kissed him wherever she could reach without moving. She never wanted this moment to end.

Eventually, Gold rolled to the side, drawing her into his arms lazily. “Mm,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to the top of her head. “Belle. Belle, I…” He trailed off as Belle tilted her face up, and leaned down to kiss her, nipping at her bottom lip playfully. She giggled, and pressed soft kisses to his neck, just under his jaw. She could feel his still-ragged breath in her hair.

“Thank you,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear. She moved her lips back to his face, dropping tiny kisses along his cheek and the end of his nose before looking him square in the eye, cocking one eyebrow cheekily.

“Thank _you_ ,” she said, biting her lip suggestively. He let out a chuckle, drawing her in for another kiss and resting their foreheads together.

“I…I just mean…” He stuttered a little, his hand tracing patterns in her back. Belle drew the blankets up to cover them, tucking them securely around their entwined bodies and settling comfortably into his arms, her head tucked neatly into his neck.

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m happy too.”


	10. Chapter 10

“You were fantastic tonight, Belle, well done!”

“Yeah, good one Belle!”

“We’ve got a cake in the main dressing room, meet us there in ten!”

Belle laughed as she half-jogged back to her dressing room, pulling the pins from her hair as she went. “You guys didn’t have to get me a cake!”

“Woah, who said anything about you? You’re going out for a fancy dinner, you’ll be lucky if you even get a slice.”

Belle giggled as she burst into her dressing room, stripping out of her sylph costume and hanging it up on her wardrobe door, smiling fondly at it. Tonight was the final performance of _La Sylphide_ ; after being extended for four months beyond its original run, with ticket sales as strong as ever, Regina had finally, reluctantly decided that they needed to remove the sets and start preparing the stage for Romeo & Juliet. Tonight’s performance was sold out to a packed, enthusiastic crowd, and finished with their longest standing ovation yet. Belle couldn’t hold back the tears as she waved at the audience for the last time.

She’d just begun scrubbing her makeup off when there was a knock at the door. “Come in!” she yelled.

Ruby slammed the door behind her, hopping up onto the dressing table and turning to Belle with a bright grin. “Guess what I did last night!”

Belle picked up a brush and started attacking her hair, swivelling her chair around to face her friend. “Um…finalised the Romeo & Juliet ad campaign with Regina?”

The other girl gave her a blank stare for a long moment, before turning away with a sigh. “Wow, Belle. Even under the influence of regular sex, you’re still remarkably unimaginative.”

Belle whacked her soundly on the arm with the flat of her brush, before letting out a squeal. “Oh my god! Archie?! Finally?!”

Ruby jumped up from the desk and swept into a bow, throwing her dark hair over her shoulder with a giggle and holding up her hands. “Please, please, hold all applause until the end of the entire filthy story.”

Ruby and Archie had been on seventeen dates since he’d sent her a bouquet at the studio. Belle could be certain of the exact number because she (as well as all the other girls, and a rather mortified Bailey on occasion) had been listening to Ruby agonise over why he hadn’t made a move to get her into bed.

Belle pulled her dress out of the closet, stepping into it and motioning for Ruby to zip her up. “So, what was it? Bad girlfriend experience? Nervousness about your expectations? It was nervousness about your expectations, wasn’t it, I _knew_ it. You have got to stop telling that story about the guy in Boca and the bondage on first dates, Rubes, it makes guys nervous.”

Her friend swatted her arm. “I didn’t even tell that story on our first date, Belle! I told him that on the third, it was the one about the guy in Vegas and the ice cubes on the first date.”

Rolling her eyes, Belle sat back down in front of the mirror, pulling out her makeup bag, which Ruby immediately took from her, scrutinising her dress for a moment before pulling out a few eyeshadow sets and some mascara. “So? What was it?”

Even with her eyes closed, Belle could hear the dreamy note in her friend’s voice. “Oh, it was…it was weirdly sweet, actually. Frustrating as hell, but sweet. I figured I’d ask him up for coffee, get the ball rolling, and he said yes, so I sat him down on the couch and just started talking. I mean, I haven’t been shopping in like a month, I don’t actually have any coffee. So, he was all nervous and fiddling with his hands, and oh, he took off his shoes as soon as he came in, it was _so_ cute – and eventually I just figured, well, he’s not gonna make the move. But _I_ didn’t want to do it, not with him all nervous like that. So, I asked him what was up, and he looked at me like I was _insane_ , I swear to god!”

Belle tried to peek out of one eye, but Ruby poked her a little too sharply with the pointed end of the eyeshadow brush. “So?” she asked. “What did he say?”

Ruby laughed. “He said he was waiting for _me_ to make the move! And I was just like – I’ve made literally a thousand moves! The ball is in your court, bro! So to speak. Although, y’know, the balls _are_ technically in his court, I guess. Whatever. And he actually got angry, it was kind of a huge turn on, and he said I’d made _vague_ moves but nothing concrete, and he knew how much I liked to be in control and in charge of everything, and he didn’t want to take that away from me. And, oh my god, he actually said that he’d been waiting for months to get me into bed and couldn’t believe that I’d been waiting for _him_ this whole time!”

Belle giggled, trying to keep her face as still as possible but failing miserably. Ruby sighed and wiped off a little smeared makeup. “Oh my god, Rubes! So…was it. Y’know?”

“Oh my god, Bellerina,” Ruby’s voice was half-teasing, half-immensely satisfied. “Have you and Gold had post-argument make-up sex yet?”

Frowning, Belle shook her head. “We’ve not really had an argument yet.”

Ruby sighed. “What, not even over who’s prettier? Not even ‘no, _you_ hang up first’?”

Belle reached out blindly to pinch her friend’s thigh where it was perched on the table. Ruby let out a yelp. “Woah, ease up, Bellerina! I’m a little sensitive after last night.” Belle winced, and then burst into giggles, Ruby joining her.

“So…it was that great?” Belle teased.

“It was angry fucking and make-up sex and first-time lovemaking all rolled into one,” Ruby answered dreamily. Belle wondered at her friend’s ability to make that sound so incredibly romantic.

“OK, we are done!” Ruby said triumphantly, snapping the blusher shut. “Just enough to sparkle, not so much you’ll look scary after inevitably going to bed with all your makeup on.”

Belle turned to look in the mirror, and shot Ruby a dangerous look. “Really, Rubes?”

Her friend winked and hopped off the table, smoothing out her skirt. “He’ll love it, girl. Staking his territory.” She gathered up her bag, and leaned down to wrap Belle in a quick hug. “I’ve gotta run, but listen – congratulations. And,” she continued, her eyes sparkling as she pulled away. “A little birdie told me that a very important role might well be arising for next year, possibly for the Christmas season, possibly in a very depressing ballet, possibly a rather important and sought-after and much-acclaimed role? Which I thought might interest you, seeing as it’s your name being bandied about.”

Her heart racing, Belle jumped to her feet. “ _Ruby_.”

The other girl raised her hands, and mimed zipping her mouth closed. “I really can’t say anything else.” With another wink, she was out the door. “Have good sex tonight!” she yelled over her shoulder.

Her cheeks colouring, Belle shut the door behind her, her heart still pounding wildly. After a final look in the mirror, unable to help the wide smile from spreading across her face, she slipped into her flats and headed for the main dressing room.

There really was a cake, a huge one, which everyone had a slice of as they celebrated the end of the show. Regina kept mentioning the preparation they needed to get underway for Romeo and Juliet, and Belle eventually shoved a slice of cake into her hands and told her firmly to relax, before giving her a warm hug.

“Thank you,” she murmured in her ear. “For everything.”

She’d never admit it, but Regina’s eyes looked suspiciously bright as she drew away. Belle gave everyone a heartfelt ‘thank you’ before fleeing back to her dressing room, checking the time and hurriedly putting the finishing touches to her outfit; shiny black heels and a glistening barrette studded with black jewels, to match her slinky black dress. It was a little more daring than she’d usually wear, but she couldn’t resist seeing the look on Adrian’s face when he picked her up.

Glancing back at herself in the mirror, she gave a rueful smile at Ruby’s handiwork. _Gold sparkles_ , she thought, exasperated. _Nice one, Rubes_. A thought occurred to her, and she rooted around in the bottom of the closet, finally emerging with a glittering gold clutch bag. Examining herself in the mirror, she smiled. She looked confident, she realised, a hundred times more confident than she’d been after her first performance. She stood taller, her chin raised higher, her eyes sparkling with some secret happiness. Turning back to the closet, she gave another fond look at her sylph costume, reaching out to trail her fingers over it.

A sharp knock came at the door, and Belle bit her lip around a smile. Smoothing out her dress, she trotted over and flung the door open, her smile widening.

“You’re late,” she reprimanded teasingly.

Gold inclined his head, shooting her a devilish smile in return. “My apologies, Miss Francouer. I had some trouble at the florist’s.” He held out the enormous bouquet to her, and Belle took it, inhaling deeply; a mix of lilies, roses, carnations and orchids, all in pure white, with the most beautiful fragrance. Pausing a moment, she held it closer to her chest.

“This is just like the first bunch you sent me,” she said softly, looking up at him over the flowers.

He help up a finger and plucked the card from the bouquet, handing it to her. “With one exception.”

Belle held the card up, her eyes tracing over the lettering. They’d been in a different hand, recently, since he’d started writing them himself.

_As always, an exquisite performance from an exquisite woman. Congratulations, darling. I love you._

_Your most fervent admirer,  
Adrian Gold._

Blinking tears from her eyes, Belle held the flowers out to one side so she could pull him in for a lingering kiss. His tongue swept over her lips and traced the roof of her mouth, and she sighed, melting into him and wrapping her free arm tightly around her shoulders.

It was minutes before she could pull away, and she rested her forehead against his gently. “I love you, too,” she murmured.

He pressed another kiss to her lips, and then another, his hands cradling her face reverently. “I love you, darling,” he whispered between kisses. “I love you.”

They broke away from each other eventually, lingering their foreheads together for a few moments longer. Belle adjusted the flowers, tucking her clutch under her arm so she could gather the flowers with one arm and slip the other through Gold’s. “So, where are we going tonight?” she asked, squeezing his arm through his dinner jacket as they stepped out into the night air. “You’re being terribly secretive.”

As they rounded the corner, Belle gasped aloud, and Gold chuckled in response. “Well, if that’s your reaction to the car, you can hardly expect me to spoil the rest of the surprise.”

He guided her into the back of the sleek, luxurious limousine, joining her after rapping sharply on the driver’s window. He poured them two glasses of champagne from a bottle chilling in an ice bucket, and raised his glass in a toast.

“To you,” he murmured.

“To _us_ ,” Belle corrected him, clinking their glasses together. She smiled as she downed her glass in one, setting it aside to wrap her arms around his neck. She kissed him languidly, her tongue sliding into his mouth immediately, and it was impossible not to climb into his lap at his guttural moan. She shifted against him, moving her mouth down to his throat.

“So,” she whispered against his skin. “How long do we have the limo for?”

She felt him smile, though she kept her face buried in his neck, nipping sharply at his skin. “All night, love,” he said breathlessly. “It’s my limo.”

Belle couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “Of course it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be 100% honest; I'm not at all happy with the pacing of this fic, but I just couldn't spend any longer staring at it. I hope you still enjoyed it!


End file.
